


Hold Me Tight and Don't Let Go

by thefirecrest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Dudley Dursley, BAMF Harry Potter, Badass, Black Family (Harry Potter), Blood Magic, Cancer, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Dudley needs serious counseling, Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Femslash, Fix-It, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Harry is a precious baby, Het, Homophobia, M/M, Magic, Magical Dudley Dursley, Mentions of Cancer, Multi, OC, OC as Dudley Dursley, Political Alliances, Political Shenanigans, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Family Drama, Pureblood Politics, Pureblood Society, Rating May Change, Rating will change, Rebirth, Remus is a precious hurting baby, SAVE HARRY POTTER, Self-Insert, Sirius is a precious hurting baby, Slash, Spell Theory, Wand Theory, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding World, Wizengamot, bet you've never seen that tag before, everyone is a precious hurting baby, magical theory, obesity, parings listed may not come true, staph with the drama, too much drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirecrest/pseuds/thefirecrest
Summary: My family is cursed. When the curse finally takes me I await for death... Until I wake up. Growing up with an opportunist family I resolve to make the best out of being reborn as Dudley Dursley. My first job? Protect Harry. SIOC!Dudley Parental!Dudley/Harry Currently Gen (later slash, het, femslash) Politics Shenanigans Pureblood family drama etc...





	1. Chapter 1

My family was prone to bad luck.

Perhaps it was in our genes. That's what the doctors said anyways. When I say "bad luck", I don't mean it so literally. "Bad luck" is just another way of saying "death" and "grief".

My mother died of cancer shortly after her seventh child, with me being the third oldest, and it was a sad occasion for all of us. She died the same way her own father and mother died, she died the same way her grandparents died, the same way her siblings have all died saved for one younger brother. It was in our genes they said. Even before we were born, it could be said that we were all predestined to die of cancer.

But we held together as a family after mother's death. Father knew his duties, and though he was probably the most hurt out of all of us, he held together. He gave us every opportunity, cared and loved us in everyway possible, worked three jobs to help feed our seven hungry mouths. In some ways, I thought that maybe that was how he coped with her death, by giving his all and letting out all that love embodied into that frail body of his.

Alice was second to go. When the doctors announced that she was in the second stage of cancer at the tender age of thirteen, it hit our family hard. Alice never cried though. I was seventeen at the time, getting ready for my senior year and preparing for college. Alice made sure I stayed on track and didn't sacrifice my life plans for her. I remember she held my hands in her tiny shaking ones, sprinkled with freckles, and looked me straight in the eye. She gave me a knowing smile and said that I would have the heaviest burden to carry. She said that she was glad that she died now instead of bearing the burden I would have to bear. Looking back on it, I believe she knew in her heart that I would be the last one to survive out of all our siblings. She died three days later with a peaceful smile on her face.

A year later, our eldest brother, Jacob, died. Died of cancer of course.

Three years after that our father died, leaving me and my older sister, Teresa, to care for our youngest. I was finishing up college; Teresa refused to let me come back until I did. She took up dad's place as provider and parent for our siblings. We were all glad though, in some ways, because father didn't have the burden of life anymore. It was clear the death of his wife and children were wearing him down, and three jobs weren't helping. He died a peaceful death surrounded by his loving children.

Then Marco, the second youngest, died at ten.

Then Ricky.

Then Teresa.

I was twenty-seven when Matilda, my youngest and only remaining sibling, fell under the influence of our family curse. Two years later she died, leaving me the only remaining member of our family. Only then did Alice's words ring true. I was now all alone and bearing the deaths of my entire family. I'd like to say that I handled it and didn't let it pull me down but I would be lying. To be completely honest, I was a wreck. I was drowning in my grief, crushed under the weight of my burden. It took me another three years to pull myself together and by then I was thirty-two. And I thought maybe, just maybe, that I would be the one to break my family curse.

I let myself live for the first time really since college, I started getting back into society. I got more involved with my work and made my way up the industry as an up-and-coming journalist reporter and by thirty-four I was well known, had published one book with a second in the making, and had a fiancé-to-be-husband I would've married in six months time. The key word is "would've".

I'm not sure who took it worse when the news came, me or everyone else around me. For me, I had been preparing my whole life for this moment; however, in the last three years I had let myself come out of my shell and had let myself hope. That all came crashing down when my doctor said I had two years to live.

I didn't even make it two years.

I died on October 31, at my thirty-five years mark, on the day of my birth.

What I didn't expect…. was to wake up again.

I won't go into the gory details of my rebirth. It was unpleasant least to say.

It was warm.

Then it wasn't.

And I screamed and cried and whined and wondered why I couldn't move and why I couldn't see. And most of all, I wondered why I wasn't dead yet. Unless, of course, I  _ was _ dead and this was the afterlife. That thought was frightening because this was some unholy type of unpleasantness. And it was fucken cold. I had a bone to pick with someone if this was the afterlife.

I spent the next who-knows-how-long in perpetual blindness, grasping blindly with my less-than-cooperative hands. It seemed that I had no motor control because my limbs refused to listen to anything I told them. It was endlessly frustrating. My near-blind vision didn't help either, and I couldn't make out anything clearly unless it was less than three inches from my face. During the first two weeks all I could make out over my stay were large hulking figures that hovered over me at undetermined intervals of time. Sometimes what felt like large hands would pick me up, other time I could hear something akin to cooing sounds while my ears still adjusted.

It didn't take long for me to come to the conclusion that I was a baby.

The idea of reincarnation had crossed my mind before. It was sort of a lovely thought, that maybe my poor abused family would get a second, and hopefully happier, chance at life. In my previous life (as I was calling it seeing as how I couldn't be sure that my last life was my first) I hadn't been particularly religious, I wondered to and from various religions neither accepting nor denying the existence of each. Reincarnation had just been one of those phases. But now I couldn't deny the fact that it existed especially now that I was a baby again.

Though I was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to know all this.

I tried to keep count of time as the days went by. It was hard considering more than half the time I was asleep or too groggy to truly concentrate on the environment around me. Somewhere along the first two weeks the walls around me turned from endless white to baby blue. It took me a while to notice the change but I soon realized that I was no longer in the hospital and was probably in whatever house I would have to live in from now on.

The idea of a new home, a new family, was saddening but at the same time I was pretty excited. Maybe this time around I wouldn't have to suffer all the misery my previous life piled upon me. I just hoped that fate would leave my family curse behind me; I didn't think I could handle the grief for a second time. Maybe this time it wouldn't be cancer, maybe it be something worse. But I didn't really care what form my curse would take, I just hoped it wouldn't come at all.

By what I assumed was the two month mark I started to see a lot clearer and my hearing improved, if only slightly. I came to recognize the thin and tall woman who took care of me everyday as my mother, or at least the woman who birthed me this time around. Her voice was the clearest out of everyone I've met to pinpoint because it was shrill and high-pitched. I felt bad but had to admit that I really didn't like her voice at all.

She would come into my room everyday at least seven to ten times, taking me downstairs only twice a day and outside only three times a week every other day. It was like clockwork. I could tell she was one of those overly obsessive organized people or a neat freak. Not that I could complain, I gave my siblings much heartache over their messy habits.

It was a little horrifying when I first comprehended that I was being breast fed sometime within those first two weeks. It can be confidently said that I was properly traumatized. But over the weeks, months now, I've come to accept that this was part of my life now and I would only have to put up with it for so long before they started bottle feeding me (my new mother soon tired of breastfeeding so it didn't take long before I was eagerly –relieved to be- sucking from a bottle). It was clear my new mother loved me dearly and I knew, as I grew older, I would be one of those coddled children. I just hoped it didn't affect my personality or my ability to maintain independence (I  _ was _ a grown woman after all).

I didn't nearly see my father as much. He, unlike mother, didn't see me periodically and his visits were sparse and at random intervals. He didn't coo or coddle but he had an arrogant and prideful tone to his voice that told me he bragged about me to his coworkers, or anything that had ears, as often as possible. He was a large man, huge compared to my mother. Even from my tiny and small view point I could tell his was grotesquely obese.

Then came the day that everything changed.

Part of me was relieved of my new life. Most people don't get a second chance, and none that I knew of got a second chance like mine. So when my second chance came crashing down all around me, it's acceptable that I didn't act well.

At two or three months I was still developing –and would be for a long time- and had yet to actually hear my new name. I've heard a few mumbles here and there, nothing really clear. All I knew was that my name began with either a B or a D and ended with a "–ee" sound. That was all I could get out of my ears even though my parents said it constantly. But it was always cooed at me from a distance about my crib, too far for my fresh ears to comprehend clearly.

As it was, the fateful day came when my mother picked me up and carried me downstairs and into an unfamiliar room, which I assumed was the living room. My head laid on her shoulder and my ear pressed against her towering neck. With my head so close to her mouth, for the first time since my rebirth I could actually comprehend what the women was saying.

"Vernon dear, could you hold the baby please."

I grimaced my baby face, unhappy at the name of my new father. I was immediately reminded of the fat walrus from the book series Harry Potter. My memories of that character were far from fond, and though it was never said, I always just took that the obese Uncle beat poor little Harry.

Though I supposed that I could live with my new father having that name. After all, I wouldn't be the one calling him Vernon and it wasn't like he was  _ actually Vernon Dursley. _

There was a mumbled reply and suddenly I was passed over to the hulking man and lean my head against his shoulder. I decided that I didn't like being held in these pudgy arms.

"Of course my honey flower," I would gag if I could. "What are you going to be doing?"

There was another mumbled reply, this time from Mother. Vern- Father replied with a chuckle that rumbled through his chest and vibrated my whole body. Then he spoke in a good-natured tone, "Of course! No one could expect less from the beautiful Petunia Dursley. I'm sure you'll give those housewives a run for their money." I froze.

Moth-  _ Petunia  _ must've noticed my sudden lack of movement because I could suddenly hear a worried tone in her shrilled voice reaching my ears. There was another shuffle and exchange of hands and I was once again held against  _ Petunia's _ –my mother's- chest. I didn't move the entire time; disbelief and shock ran through me. She couldn't possibly be  _ that Petunia Dursley.  _ Am I going insane?

"Honey? Are you alright?" Her voice cooed to me with a frantic undertone. I felt her shift and look ahead, "Vernon! I don't think he's breathing!" I blinked against the cotton fabric of her dress,  _ I'm not breathing?  _ "Honey! Common dear!" Her shrilled voice rose in a crescendo and to a new pitch. "Vernon! Dudley's not breathing!"

I completely froze that that moment, all my muscles locking simultaneously. There was no way this could be a coincidence. My head grew dizzy from a lack of air and one thing kept repeating itself over and over in my brain:

_ I'm Dudley Dursley. _

And then I snapped.

I can't really remember what happened after that. All I know was that I felt a heat, a terrible, horrifying,  _ magnificent  _ heat rise from what I can only describe as the deepest core of my being. I'm not sure if I screamed, Petunia was definitely, but that heat rose and charged and  _ accelerated. _

And then it  _ exploded. _

Pure, undiluted  _ power  _ exploded from deep within me. The sheer amount of sound was deafening as the windows shattered all around us. Petunia was screaming and screeching in my ear, I could hear Vernon yelling at a distance trying to reach his wife –or keep away from her, I still can't be sure on that. This all happened in a matter of seconds.

Then I felt the support around me disappear, I felt the rush of gravity as Petunia let go of me, coupled by the hurricane-like force of the power surging in the room, pull and push me towards the ground. I remember seeing in crystal clear detail each little fiber and string of the pastel green carpet around me as everything pulled into slow motion, the sounds of screaming, yelling, shattered glass, and creaking wood all around me before everything went black.

My last thought before I blacked out was " _ I can't believe my parents dropped me on my head as a baby." _

I wasn't sure how long after that it took me to wake but when I did I had immediately realized that all my senses were now crystal clear and sharp. Whatever I had done speeded up my development incredibly.

Then I noticed a presence next to me. I strained to turn my baby neck towards the side, but a crystal clear picture of, who was undoubtedly, Petunia Dursley, from the Harry Potter movie franchise, greeted me. She had definite dark bags under her eyes; her hair stuck up in strange places, and her green floral dress was slightly skewed and not perfect. Overall, she looked like she hadn't slept in days and had passed out next to my white crib (I noticed that I was in the hospital).

I felt a pang then because I knew she loved me dearly, but I also knew how she and her husband would treat Harry. I was torn between my need for perfect parents and my prior-knowledge of a fictional world.

Later Petunia would wake up and see me staring at her and burst into tears.

Nothing was the same after that day. There were less coos and no more cuddles. I never saw Vernon much anymore and Petunia tried to make as little physical contact with me as possible. And though I didn't like the couple I also didn't like the feeling of being neglected. I grew up around a large family and I wasn't use to so little human contact.

Often times I would hear Vernon and Petunia arguing downstairs. I'm not sure how and when Vernon found out about the Wizarding world (I'm assuming right before or after the wedding) but they would argue about sending me off to Petunia's sister and her family. And though I probably would've been happier there I was still understandably upset and angry at such a suggestion. How could they not  _ want  _ me!

This pattern continued for a few more months, of which I grew depressed and lonely with no one to interact with except myself and the walls of my room.

Then one day the two entered my room. I looked up at my  _ parents  _ with large questioning eyes. Petunia gave me a tiny smile and hesitantly picked me up.

I gasped at the warmth of her touch and felt tears prickle in my eye. I wiggled and pressed my head into the crook of her neck and made soft baby cries. I decided to throw her a bone and hope that they won't ignore me anymore. "M-mama…"

I heard a small gasp and the once hesitant hands wrapped around me tighter, surer. "It's okay Diddykins, mama's here for you," she cooed into my hair and gave me a firm kiss on the head. "See Vernon, Dudley wouldn't hurt anyone." She held me up and faced me, a warmer smile on her face. "Isn't that right Dudders."

I gurgled happily, trying anything that would please the two with full control over my life. I noticed that even Vernon's stern face softened a bit at my baby antics.

"I… I suppose it'll be all right. You did say that your sister told you these…  _ accidental magics  _ happen sometimes but don't actually grow into anything right?" The man questioned uncertainly. "After all, our son couldn't possibly be some weird  _ freak  _ of course." His tone grew arrogant at the end and he smirked, suddenly sure of himself.

"Of course, of course," Petunia waved him off. "Lily just tainted little Dudley here a little with her freakiness. It'll amount to nothing in the end. He'll be normal. Right Diddykins?" She beamed at me. "You won't do anymore of that abnormal-ness will you?"

I didn't like where this was going. That they were just going to pass of my hurricane of accidental magic off as a one in a million kind of thing. But… I didn't want to suffer being alone again. I took a moment to think it through then responded with a happy "Mama!"

Vernon and Petunia both smiled at me.

For the next year everything seemed back to the way it was. I was their happy normal baby and I almost never did anything freaky or abnormal. When I did by accident (I really wanted that milk bottle Petunia forgot and left across the room) Petunia and Vernon would turn a blind eye. The power of human denial was truly a force to be reckoned with. It made me wonder what else people could trick themselves into believing if they wanted to hard enough.

Life was… Good. The two adult Dursleys got their normal, quiet, and eventless life back and I played my role as normal and happy baby. It seemed life would continue as such for a long time.

Then that day arrived.

I don't actually know when Dudley's birthday is, sometime in spring I would assume. But something about my actual birthday, from my previous life, made itself known when the day arrived. One the day of Halloween there was a spark in the air that made my wispy baby hair stand on end and send a shiver through me. This year was no exception. In fact, it may be even  _ more  _ pronounced. The atmosphere reminded me of my first time doing accidental magic. It was saturated with an energy and power that licked at my core. I couldn't help but cry and wail as my natural baby-instincts screamed at me to thrash and throw a fit. Something was going down tonight, and if memory served right two wizards would die tonight and a baby would be orphaned. Petunia had long given up trying to sooth my crying and had retired to a restless night.

My sharp eyes were sore as day turned into night and the night wore on and on, but something in me refused to let me sleep. Way past midnight, and probably sometime in the early morning before sunrise, there was a shift in the air. I sucked in a sharp breath when the light right outside my window went out. I was immediately reminded of the very first scene in Harry Potter where a lone Dumbledore steals the lights of streetlamps down a dark street. I was right. Soon you could hear the tell tale sign of a motorbike approaching.  _ Hagrid. _

_ Harry. _

The sound of the bike went out after a few minutes and the sound of silence lasted for several more. Then suddenly there was a brief knocking coming from downstairs. My magically enhanced senses picked it up immediately. By this point my breathing was coming in and out in shallow breaths as I waited in (excitement?) tension.

There was a shift outside my door and across the hall and I heard Vernon grumbling angrily and Petunia's hushed yet worried voice. The obese man was not happy having being interrupted this late at night (and to be honest I would be very angry, and a little more than suspicious).

My eyes began to droop though, even when I heard the surprised gasp of Petunia way downstairs. The strange atmosphere had dissipated, the horrible night was over, and there was nothing left to keep me awake. I yawned widely and without my consent everything turned dark and I slept.

 


	2. First Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns to cook. Dudley fights some bullies. And they both make some new friends in a beautiful new world.

I sat at the table annoyed. My little three-year-old self, glaring deeply at the kitchen where an irresponsible adult is already planning the slavery of an innocent child. I shot daggers at the back of Petunia who is irritably showing little Harry the ropes of the kitchen. She is instructing him on how to cook an egg.

I will never understand how the Dursleys can constantly insult Harry’s intelligence and call him stupid yet expect him to do tasks that no one his age should be capable of. Cooking at three years old is not a feat that many people to claim to themselves. And here stands my _mother_ , scolding the very person she consistently says is useless for not understanding what she dishes out. And poor baby Harry can only cower there wondering why a giant woman is yelling at him.

I huff and turn my attention away. There is little I can do about the situation without making it worse for Harry. Because I am ‘precious’ Diddykins any fault I make is automatically punishment to Harry. Thus I try to carry myself as careful as possible, which is easier said than done when your three-year-old limbs still fail to understand and recreate even the simplest of instructions. Many a fall and knocked over objects have been the bane of Harry’s pitiful existence in the Dursley abode and I’m disgusted that I may have had anything to do with his increased discomfort. (Let’s just say that a lot of things in this place disgust me).

I vow to make it up to the boy later as I turn to my breakfast. A huge platter is laid before me, big enough for even adult-me to be full from. I’m also slightly disgusted at the lack of proper parenting in this household. It’s no wonder the original Dudley was such a fat pig. I’ll just have to try my best to avoid that fate. A lot of running and exercising whenever I get the chance. I’ll bring Harry along with me too.

I take a couple of bites, careful to sneak a few bits of food into a satchel I have under the table every few seconds. It’s easier today because Vernon had to leave early for work and won’t be here to catch my deceit. Not that he would anyways; the walrus is slower than creature I’ve ever come across. The stowed away food is for Harry to eat in secret later because lord know that my _parents_ don’t feed him enough, and I’ll be damned if I let that boy be malnourished and underdeveloped before our Hogwarts days.

The morning meal passes without much fanfare. Harry struggles to make an egg while balancing on top a chair before the stove. The end result isn’t pretty but who would expect it to be? There was some collateral damage. Collateral meaning the egg that is and thankfully not Harry in anyway. But Petunia still sees it fit to scold the boy for his perhaps third or so attempt at cooking and sends him to his ‘room’ with the punishment of no lunch. I roll my eyes and quickly empty the contents of my plate into the satchel and hide it beneath my chair as Petunia approaches me.

“Hi there Diddykins,” she coos and pinches my cheeks. “Sorry you can’t have your egg this morning,” her face turns sour, “that street urchin just ruined the last one. But don’t you worry; Mama will go buy a whole new box of them. I’ll also pick up a couple of custard tarts. Would you like that?”

I force a smile onto my face, horrified at her choice of words. “Thank you Momma. I would love that.”

She beams at me, “That’s my good boy. So polite, and your diction is so good too.” She gives me a hug in her bony arms. “I’ll be right back. You be good in the house okay? The telly is there for you too. See you soon love.” With one last kiss on the forehead she leaves to go get her purse, then she walks out the front door.

I wait until I can hear the car pulling from the driveway and leaving before I move away from the table and to the cupboard beneath the stairs. I hesitantly knock on the door, “Harry…?”

Almost immediately the door flings open and I suddenly have an armful of Harry. I fall backwards and burst out laughing. “What’s gotten into you?”

The boy doesn’t look up and buries his head in my chest. I smile at his small form fondly and gently pat his messy hair. Harry shifts and shyly peaks up at me with those brilliant green eyes, “Stoves are scarwy.”

I can’t help when I burst out laughing. Harry’s face becomes flushed and he pouts at me, I just grin and hug him tighter to reassure him that I was only poking fun at him. “They’re only scary because you’re so _tiny_.” An insulted huff. “But I suppose with practice… You’ll be cooking like a master chef in no time!”

He doesn’t say anything but I can feel the feelings of achievement and happiness radiating from him. Harry loves it when I praise him, I try not to do it all the time but the wonderfully warm response I get from his is almost too much too pass up. He really was a cute kid.

“Anyways,” I pull the tyke off of me, holding him at arm's length, and look straight in his eyes. “Why don’t we cook a little bit while Mom is out? I’ll teach you a few things. Hm?”

Harry’s eyes grow comically big then he gets a suspicious look on his faces, it’s unbearably adorable. “How _you_ know to cook?” I smirked.

“Because I’m the _best_ of course. I’m amazing at everything!”

“Fadder G-Gaebral,” he struggles with the name. “Says pride is a sin.”

I shrug not denying it. “Eh. It’s only a sin if you let it overtake and blind you.”

“Overtake?”

“Big kid word,” I easily reply. “I’ll explain when you’re older.” At this Harry really pouts, his cheeks becoming puffed and red.

“But you’re not big kid!”

I laugh and ruffle his raven locks; Harry vehemently tries to knock my prying hands away still holding his mini grudge. “Like I said. I’m amazing. I don’t need to be a big kid to know big kids things. I probably know more things than most big kids anyways.” I start walking towards the kitchen dragging my sweet cousin behind me. “But we should start cooking now if you don’t want to get caught.” I glance behind me discreetly only to catch Harry rolling his eyes at my antics. For such a young boy Harry really was remarkably smart and observant. He definitely understood more than I did at his age.

I relinquish him when we reach the kitchen and I quickly push a dining room chair in front of the stove. Then I walk over to the trash and peak inside.

“Okay Har, do you remember what we were practicing last week?” Last week was actually about three days ago since it was Tuesday.

Harry quickly nods and joins me in searching the trash. Even without me explaining he already knows what I was getting at. “Found it!” He exclaims, “there. By the fish box.”

I look to where he was pointing and lo-and-behold there was a burnt and ruined scramble of eggs scattered around a frozen fish-sticks box. It’s a little gross, especially since the rubbish bin stinks, but this was something we had to do.

“Okay. You know what to do Har-bear.”

The three-year-old makes a face at the endearment  then grabs my larger hand in his smaller one. I take one last look at him before focusing my complete attention on the ruined eggs in the trash. I imagine and focus on round, runny, white, round, runny, white, round, runny, whi...

“Whoop!” I hear Harry exclaim. I suddenly realize that my hand is empty. I open my eyes to see Harry grinning triumphantly at three floating eggs, perfectly together and still in their shells uncooked. Harry excitedly plucks one from its suspension and examines the reverted egg. He then looks up at me with such child-like wonder and excitement. “Duddy. Magic is amazing.”

I agree. After I discovered my own gift I had been quick to explore it and all its possibilities (in secret of course). Even in my previous life I had always pondered the implications of magic and the difference between spoken spells and things like accidental magic. After much experimenting I discovered what I had always suspected, that magic was just heavy and concentrated focus and _want._ With those two factors understood most simple magic was easy to accomplish. Of course I have yet to experiment with a wand but I’m mostly positive that wands are just popular way to concentrate and focus the magic and intent that naturally exist to us. I figure that wandless magic and accidental magic alike take a much higher brain concentration and a more direct and untainted form of want. For example, between an adult and a child, a child would have a more pure form of want if they wanted a piece of candy. Whereas an adult on the other hand may have a more _distributed_ want for that candy, not just for the sweetness but maybe because it would be more socially acceptable for them to eat that candy at the moment or the candy was given to them by someone special, etc… The point was that children have a naturally more focused and pure sense of want; it was more primal and instinctive. While adults… Their thoughts got too much at the way.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

I snatch the remaining two eggs from suspension and take a few wobbly steps over to the towering chair we placed. It’s a bit of a struggle to climb onto the chair but I manage and help hoist Harry up too. He hands over the third egg and I put all three down to the side. I grab the cooling pan and place it on the back burner.

“First of all,” I enter lecture mode. “Safety first. I honestly think you’re too young to be cooking but since it’s unavoidable we’ll just touch up on the basics. The stove is very dangerous, you must always be sure to keep the handle of the pan in…”

And so went the rest of our morning, just learning how to make eggs. When we messed up we would just revive the eggs to their original pristine form, though I put a limit on that for fear of magical exhaustion. Harry ended up being pretty good at making eggs and I fried us up some sausages and enjoyed a nice peaceful brunch with my cousin. Petunia returned around one in the afternoon with her promised tarts, which I stole in my pockets and shared with Harry.

~*~

“Are you sure you’ve got everything Diddykins? Notebook? Napkins?” Petunia went on as she fusses over my outfit. I avert my eyes; lest she notices my thinly veiled exasperation. She honestly wouldn’t be that bad of a mother if she would only just not give me everything I ask for. It was no wonder the original Dudley became so fat and spoiled. That and her treatment of Harry of course. I firmly stand by my opinion that she could’ve been a good mother to him if she had just let go of her petty childhood grudges.

“Mother,” I sigh. “I’ll be fine. I have everything I need.”

Petunia bit her lip in worry. “Alright sweetums. But I really think you should eat another helping of breakfast. It’s going to be a long day and I don’t want you getting tired-“

“Mother.”

She froze in her rambling. Her hands still gripping the lapel of my coat.

“I’ll be fine. Lunch time won’t be too long from now and I’ve got snacks packed for recess.” I smile at her.

She sighs and releases me, “Alright then love. We better get going then. Can’t be late for the first day of primary.” She struggles to her feet. I watch as her thin and frail looking limbs shake to hold her up. If anyone should eat more it’s her. “Off to the car then.” Petunia suddenly furrows her brow and throws a stern and unpleasant look behind my shoulders. “You too.”

I her tiny feet shuffling behind me to get into action. I sneak a peek behind me to see Harry struggling with a large pack and too large gray cloths. His hair is unkempt and while I find it endearing I know that Petunia doesn’t like it one bit.

She clicks her tongue and turns her full attention to her nephew. “Now just wait a moment. Where do you think you’re going looking like that. What will the neighbors think! They’ll think we’ve not taken care of you, ungrateful child. You will clean up this instance or you’ll not be leaving this house!” She crosses her arms, “Be glad we’re even bothering to send your dimwitted brain to get educated. Fat lot of good it’ll probably do.”

“Yes awunt Petunia,” Harry calls out right away. His face has turned a little red from embarrassment. This day was not off to a good start.

I would soon discover that the rest of today would not get much better.

At five, Harry and I are finally starting primary school, though I still struggle from calling it Kindergarten in my head. Petunia woke us up extra early though Harry was up before me and had already prepared a heaping breakfast for the walrus and I. The amount of grease and meat I had ingested made me feel nauseated. Already I can see myself filling out more than I want to but it’s hard with food constantly being shoved onto my plate.

We arrived at school after the whole fiasco with Harry’s appearance (nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a small distraction from me and a little magic to clean him up). Immediately Petunia went up to the teacher and began to talk bad about Harry while somehow simultaneously singing praises about her “Diddykins.” The teacher looked uncomfortable but seemed to take to heart that Harry was an untrustworthy rascal.

The real problems began after Petunia left.

While he was crisp and clean, Harry’s lackluster outfit (outdated, too large, in shades of gray) painted him as the black sheep of our class. The other five-year-olds immediately pick up on the difference on him and childhood cruelty began.

“You look funny.” A little girl sniffed eyeing Harry up and down. I remember her saying her name was Samantha. “What’s wrong with you?”

I mentally flinch at the bluntness of her words. Harry looks crestfallen and is already closing in on himself. I’ll need to help rectify the situation.

Before I can speak though another little boy steps in, “how come you got ugly clothes? Don’t your Mum and Pa buy any for you?” Another little flinch.

“I- I don’t have a Mum or Da…” Maybe I should step in.

The boy looks shocked and a little disbelieving, “Whot do you mean you ain’t go no Mum or Pa?  _ Everyone  _ has a Mum and a Pa.” He gives Harry a strange look that screams  _ what is wrong with you? _

Already children began gathering around us taking in the conversation coupled with Harry’s outlier appearance. I feel anger spike in me but I remind myself that the children don’t really mean anything by what they say. They haven’t learned the tact or decorum to read the situation. I sigh as another child speaks up with another scathing review.

“Whot’s your name anyways?” Says the boy from before. He has freckles and dark ginger hair. He reminds me almost of a Weasley. “I’m Justin Rooth!”

“Harry Potter…”

Justin makes a face of utter concentration as if Harry’s name is a very puzzling riddle. Then he says, “At least your name isn’t weird.” Ouch,  _ at least? _ “But I still don’t get why you ain’t got no parents.” Okay. I’m stepping in now.

“Alright alright,” I say holding my hands up disarmingly. I give the group of children a tight smile as I stand up, “Harry here lives with my Mom and Dad. They’re his Aunty and Uncle.” I walk over to Harry and put an arm around him. He flashes me an appreciative look.

“Okay, but where’re his parent’s then?” A new little girl speaks up. She’s got two cute little blonde pigtails and she’s wearing a pretty pink dress. I turn to look at her.

“Not everyone has a Mother and a Father, that’s just how life is sometimes. You should be happy you have them because some people aren’t so lucky.” That seems to do the trick as the children's gazes soften up a bit.

“That sounds terrible,” the girl cries out. She turns to Harry, “I am very sorry so let’s be friends.” At least it’s good to know that children’s logic will never make sense no matter what universe I’m in. “I’m Anthy Willbro. A pleasure to meet you Harry!” Anthy is rather well spoken for her age.

Harry flashes her a tentative smile, “I-it’s nice to meet you too Anthy… Let’s be good friends.”

The other children exchange considering looks. The boy, Justin, suddenly declares, “I wanna be your friend too Harry!”

Then another, “M-me too!”

“I’ll be your friend!”

And so a bunch of students began declaring their oaths of friendship towards a bewildered Harry. After only having me for so long it’s no wonder he’s overwhelmed by the sudden surge of companionship.

But like I said, the would not get better.

Class picks up when the teacher walks in and I have to sit through the beginnings of torture for my adult brain. And to think that I have to go through another few years of this. The first day isn’t terrible, since all the teacher made us to was introductions and games, but all I want to do is run to the library and find a good book to read. At least Harry is happy.

The real trouble begins when recess is called.

I’m left in the dust when the happy group of Harry’s new friends drag him out towards the playground. I take a more leisurely pace while gathering together snacks for Harry and I (I ignore the cupcake Petunia packed for me and grab an apple instead. I’ve noticed myself gaining more weight recently) before following the class. I slow my pace even more as I walk through the school, sharp gaze memorizing the layout. Bless this wonderfully absorbent child’s brain. I vow to milk it’s ability to learn for everything its got.

There is some commotion when I finally reach the playground. Asides from the few children too busy running around on the jungle gym, the rest of the students are gathered around the base of the monkey bars. It’s a bit of a struggle to get closer since there were so many kids crowding, and even harder to hear anything since everyone apparently feels it necessary to talk at the top of their voices, but I manage to push my way through to the center of the gathering (more than two decades worth of living in a big city will give you some great crowd maneuvering skills).

I am unhappy at what meets my sight.

“-weird freak. That’s wot ma Ma tells me,” a little boy sneers down at Harry. Harry himself is in looking down at the ground with a frown and reddening eyes. I notice that our classmates are standing by looking quite uncomfortable. Apparently my little speech managed to stop them from joining in on the cruelty but after only one meeting with Harry their newfound “friendship” isn’t strong enough for them to defend the poor boy among other aggressors yet. Children sure are fickle.

I decide not to wait around to to see it the situation improves on its own. I step forwards immediately, placing myself between my cousin and the bully.

“Excuse me,” I settle the unknown boy with a cool glare, “but you’re are making my cousin uncomfortable. I think he’d appreciate it if you left him alone.”

The boy startles, jerking back at my sudden presence. He seemed a little shocked that someone would just get all up in his face out of nowhere. But after a second this shock seems to wear off because the boy glares back at me and takes a menacing step forwards. I don’t move as he intrudes on my space. I’ve dealt with far more domineering adults than this pipsqueak before.

“My Ma says that he’s a freak,” the boy sneers at me. “That he does weird thing and is a de-de-delingcut.”

_ A delingcut? _

I frown, “You mean… A delinquent?”

“Y-yeah!” He sounds less sure of himself now that I’ve corrected him. Actually, he’s gone red in the face a little too. “He’s a delingcruent!” Close enough.

I sigh and realize this has Petunia written all over it. The boy’s mother is probably one of my mother’s tea mates. I thought Petunia was getting better with her animosity towards Harry but I’m apparently mistaken. Gossiping about a five-year-old as a delinquent to the neighbor? Does anyone in this family have any shame? Mother is probably going to do the same thing tomorrow at the big PTA meeting with other mothers and the teachers.

I suddenly realize that this is going to be a lot more work than I originally thought. Afterall, crowd control isn’t exactly easy.

“Harry is not a  _ delinquent _ ,” I drawl out. “He is my very well behaved cousin and I don’t take too kindly to you insulting him in front of me. Apologize.  _ Now _ . Or I’ll call for the teacher.”

The boy sputters in indignation, “Wot for!  _ He’s  _ the freak!” He points an accusing finger at Harry, “Evorybody else agree wit me anyways! Right?” He looks around at the crowd of children peering in on the heated exchange.

A few other students raise their voices in agreement but most of them just look uncomfortable. By the way the boy’s face turns more red, this clearly isn’t the support he was hoping to get. He turns angrily towards on of the uncomfortable looking boys and demands, “common Dennis! Your Ma told you too right?”

Dennis bits his lips and hastily nods his head, “yeah. He’s a freak.” Children are such sheep.

The aggressor nods his head in glee vigorously, “Yeah! And you Malcolm? You know too right?”

This next boy I actually recognize. Petunia brought me to his house once. He’s a rather large looking blonde boy whose possibly the broadest five-year-old I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even hesitate to vocalize his agreement, “Harry Potter is a freak.” Oh great, this one knows Harry’s name.

“Yeah! He’s a freak!” The main boy -now I recognize him, he’s also another boy I’ve see on Private Drive named Piers Polkiss. Piers starts yelling this out and slowly but surely murmurs of agreement and that damnable word “ _ freak”  _ is spreading among the children. Urgh, I’ll never understand crowd mentality.

“Shut your mouth now Polkiss or I really will go get the teacher,” I hiss angrily. The situation was getting way out of hand, I’ve already lost control of the entire thing. Manipulating a small classroom of children was much more manageable than this jungle of chaos. Had he not been such a cruel little tosser I would’ve applauded Piers on his talent for swaying a crowd. Sadly he is an absolute little demon and it’s about time that I took Harry and I out of this crazy equation.

“Do it then,” Piers dares, “its not like thems gonna do anything about that freak anyways.”

I angrily snatch up Harry’s quivering hand in mine and start pulling away from the situation. I also noticed it’s much harder to keep the emotions in this tiny underdeveloped body in control. My breathing is heavy and I have to fight from turning around and give that brat a piece of my adult mind.

I lose that fight when the asshole kid actually has the audacity to shove my boy, MY HARRY, hard when we turn our backs. Harry knocks into me with a muffled oomph and I have to dig my feet into the ground to keep us both from falling face first into the dirt.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME!” I shout loudly. There is a bunch of loud gasps -as well as plenty of confused voices for the more sheltered kids- as the voices die down from my exclamation.

Once I’m sure Harry can stand on his own I turn around abruptly and shove Piers hard in the chest. It’s clear the boy didn’t expect it because he falls straight back onto his ass. The vindictive side of me smiles with glee and cheers for more retaliation. I take a menacing step forwards towards the fallen boy and bare my teeth down at him.

“You’re a bloody little wanker ya know? You have NO idea what I should do to you. How DARE you talk about Harry that way. How DARE you push him you fucking little brat,” I’m seething in rage. I can see red in my vision. Later I will wonder if this was hereditary and if short tempers run in the family. “Piss off you little asshole!” My old American accent came through strong on this one.

The entire playground is silent with shock as I once again grab Harry’s hand and drag him off. I feel a little more calm after having sworn up a storm. Man I miss doing that. Having to regulate my language is a real pain in the ass.

As we begin to walk off I suddenly hear an alarmed “Dudley!” from next to me and a whoosh of air. Something hard slams me in the back and a lurch forwards and fall to the ground. Suddenly there is another whoosh of air and I feel a bright pain blossom in my gut. I blink and see an enraged Piers Polkiss pulling his leg back for another kick. I quickly roll to the side making him miss and stagger to my feel. But a pair of hand behind me pushes me back to the ground and Piers once again moves in for a kick.

I grit my teeth and prepare for the blow when there is a blur of black and gray and suddenly Harry and Pier are on the ground rolling around wrestling for control. I’ve never seen Harry with such an angry expression on his face before. His mesmerizing green eyes are practically glowing with energy and raw emotion.

They roll around a little more, exchanging kicks and scratches along the way before, miraculously, the smaller Harry ends up straddling Piers beneath him and pulls back a taunt fist ready to punch the bully in the face and-

“-WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!”

Everyone freezes in their place. I didn’t even notice that i was so tense until this moment. I relax my body and allow it to collapsed bonelessly onto the dirty ground.

The crowd of children part like the red sea to make way for a stern looking woman that I recognize as Principal Wilhelm from the pictures on the walls. She marches onto the playground with an aura of authority and settles a glare on the four of us. Piers, Harry, the person who pushed me down which I can now see is Malcolm, and me.

“There is to be no fighting on this campus,” she eyes each of us harshly. “To think this is only the first day of school. What would your parents say?” There is silence. She sighs deeply expressing a depthless annoyance and says, “alright. Get up now. And follow me to my office. You are all in big trouble.”

I suppress a groan. This was not how I pictured today going.

~*~

Principal Wilhelm was surprisingly reasonable and allowed each of us to explain our side of the story fully. Though she made it clear that we would each be punished for fighting regardless since there is a no tolerance rule. She sat through the entire story without interruption.

“-but I understand that I should’ve kept my temper,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did and egged Polkiss on. However, I do not tolerate bullying. Especially that of my younger cousin. Harry is such a sweet and gentle boy… It… It my my fault Principal Wilhelm. Harry was only defending me. He wouldn’t have acted if I hadn’t gotten involved. He would’ve just stood there and allowed the abuse to continue. I can’t just stand by and allow some cruel bully verbally abuse him like that. I’ll take responsibility for everything but please don’t punish Harry.” There’s also the fact that Harry is punished on the regular basis already but I don’t voice that thought.

Wilhelm makes a noise of understanding at the back of her throat before speaking, “Mr. Dursley. Im sure you already understand why I cannot do that. We do not tolerate any form of roughhousing here no matter what the circumstance.”

“Even in self-defence?” I bite out harder than I intended.

She raises a brow at me, “From what I heard Harry tackled Piers on his own. He was… unprovoked. Do you understand what that word means Dudley?”

“I do…”

“Good,” Principle Wilhelm hums. “You are a very well spoken and intelligent little boy Dudley. And I understand your concern for your younger cousin. Protectiveness of those we love is a good trait to have but… Too much of anything can be bad. Given your surprising comprehension I’ll assume you’ll understand what I am about to say. It is good that you worry and care so much for Harry. However, you may be stifling him.”

I blink in alarm and open my mouth to protest, “I am not stifli-”

“Let me finish,” she demands sharply. My mouth audibly clicks close. “You have only just begun Primary school. You both still have a good many more years to go. However, if you continue to hold Harry’s hand through everything you will stunt his ability to stand on his own and stand up for himself. I understand you care much about him and you don’t want him to get hurt. But if you continue this, you will hurt him in the long run. Harry needs some space to grow on his own.”

I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable at the sheer  _ truth  _ in her words. Have I really been smothering Harry? But he has the entire world against him with only me on his side. A small frown plays at my lips and I refuse to meet Wilhelm’s eyes.

She lets out another sigh and leans forwards on her desk, aged hands clasp together firmly. “Listen Dudley.” I peek up at her slowly, “You are still a young boy. While your intellect and maturity is rather shocking, this is the time in your life to play and have fun. I am a sixty-year-old woman young man, trust me when I say that there will be plenty of time to be an adult later. For now, you and Harry should enjoy what little time you have as children. You may be smart for your age but you are still young and inexperienced. Let the adults take care of Harry.”

Well, it isn’t like I can exactly tell her that I’m, in fact,  _ not  _ a child. But she does make a good point. I am a child and it isn’t like I got much of a childhood in my past life what with the family curse and all. But still… This woman doesn’t know the happenings in the Dursley household. The poisonous attitude isn’t just confined to 4 Private Drive either, at least until I manage to fix Petunia’s attitude. It’s getting better, but simply based on today’s situation it’s clear that vicious rumors are still being spread.

Apparently my silence has been going on for a good bit because Principle Wilhelm clears her throat and leans back in her seat. She gives me a knowing eye and says, “Though you will all be punished. Simply based on the stories I’ve heard and the fact that today is the first day of school I’ve decided not to inform your parent’s of today’s incident.” My eyes widen as I take in her words. Wow, where was  _ this  _ woman in the Harry Potter series? She reminds me a little of Mcgonagall almost.

“Thank you ma’am,” I nod my head vigorously. “I’ll make sure to keep out of trouble and…” I bite my lip, “... I’ll see about giving my cousin some space.” Of course, that all depends on how the next few years go.

“Very well, you may return to class now. I trust you remember the way back?”

Sliding off the chair I meet her gaze square on, “Yes ma’am.” Then I left the room.

~*~

Harry and I stand in the bathroom. We’re waiting on Petunia to come pick us up soon since school ended fifteen minutes ago. I’m looking in the mirror feeling dread well up in my stomach as I stare at the dark blue bruise forming on my cheek. Probably from when Malcolm pushed me the the ground.

“Shit…” I mutter under my breath while prodding at the wound gently. Petunia is going to throw a fit. Never mind the other bruises I can feel forming beneath my clothes.

“Hurts?”

I look over at Harry. He’s eyeing me with some foggy emotion in his eyes, but I can’t place what that emotion is. I shrug, “Not really. Mom won’t be happy though.”

“Oh…” He says softly and looks away. I frown and follow his gaze.

“What’s wrong Har-bear?”

“Isnothing…”

The corner of my lips pull down lower and I make my way over to where Harry is standing and lean in close to him trying to catch his gaze. “Hey hey, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“It- it’s just…” His voice grows thick with emotion and green eyes snap up to mine so fast that I nearly lurched back. “You’re hurt because of me. It’s my fault!” I can see that foggy look in his eyes are now tears forming. My mouth drops open and I’m left at a loss of words. Why does he think this is his fault? I’m the one that made Polkiss angry.

“What! No no no. It’s not your fault Har-bear,” I grab his arms feeling an urge to shake some reason into the small child. “I-I’m the one that made Pierrs mad. I’m the one that swore!”

“Yeah, but I’m the one that got you involved in the first place.”

I swallow in surprise. Not only at Harry’s surprising use of a big word like “involved” but also that he came to such a conclusion. Once again I cannot find my voice.

“Aunt Petunia is right,” Harry continues, tears now streaming down his face. “I’m bad for you.”

My heart is crushed beneath a heavy weight and I feel my own tears prickling at my eyes. Even after all I’ve done to try and make Harry’s life easier, he was still struggling so much. I didn’t mean to  _ add  _ to his burdens. I just want him to be happy. At first because he’s such a cute kid and also a beloved character, but after nearly five-years of living with the boy I also have a personal investment in his happiness.

“Aw Harry,” I say leaning in to give the crying boy a hug. I can feel him shaking in my arms as I continue, “Mom and Walrus are wrong about you. Har-bear you are the  _ best  _ thing that’s happened to me in this life.” I really mean it too. I’ve always been a very family orientated woman, first with my younger siblings and then with the image of a child I had hoped to one day have when I grew older. I lost both of those chances and now I have Harry. There is nothing more fulfilling in life than caring for and loving a child. “That situation today? That was partly my fault. But also Polkiss’s for saying those horrible things to you. He was the one that threw the first punch.” Well… Metaphorically speaking. Technically no actual punches were thrown.

I open my mouth to say more when I hear a familiar voice.

“Duddums? Are you in here baby?”

I momentarily panic, fingers flying to my injured cheek, as my mind flies away with excuses. I cannot tell her about the fight today, least of all that Harry was involved.

“Diddykins?” Petunia calls again, voice closer this time.

I’m about to answer when I feel another small hand cover my own on my face. I peer over at Harry who offers me a watery smile. His nose and cheeks are red and stained with tears but he stopped crying.

“Magic Dudley,” is all he has to say before his face scrunches up cutely in concentration and slowly but surely I feel a warmth engulf my face.

“Wow,” I mutter because this is Harry doing this  _ all on his own. _ Normally we perform “accidental” magic in tandem to get better results. I especially struggle with it because I’m technically not a child, but Harry has a very natural affinity for it.

Within seconds the little tyke releases my face and opens his eyes. I glance over at the mirror and notice that the bruise is mostly gone, well enough that you probably wouldn’t notice it unless I pointed it out. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that Harry looks rather tired.

“Dudley?” Petunia again, her voice is louder and laced with worry.

“In here Mum!”

I move away from Harry as her head peeks into the boys restroom. Relief colors her expression as she takes my form in, “Duddums, why didn’t you answer me sooner?”

“Sorry Mum, was on the toilet.”

“Well then, come on. I’m parked in the front,” she says. “... You too Harry.” Her voice is still a little hostile but at least she has the decency to call him by his name in public. We’ll work on it.

“Yes Aunt Petunia,” Harry answers diligently having already wiped the tear streaks from his face. He still looks really tired after that display of magic and I’m a little worried that he’ll collapse but he walks towards the exit just fine so I ignore it for now. I’ll have to warn him about doing too much magic alone though. Magical exhaustion is a thing but I’m just not sure what it entails yet. Nothing good I’m sure. I just hope that there is no repeat of the disaster that was today.

As we walk to the car Harry and I notice a little pink figure waving to us in the distance.

“Bye Harry!” Anthy calls out from here her father is herding her into the car. She’s jumping up and down, giving her poor father a difficult time attempting to buckle her in. But her wave is enthusiastic and her smile is bright and contagious. A warm feeling wells up inside me when I see Harry’s own smile forming as he waves back at the girl. A stark difference from his red and crying face earlier.

Perhaps not everything today was a total disaster.

~*~

Summer is surprisingly quick to roll around. The first year of official schooling passes by faster than I thought it would. There had been a few more incidences along the way, but nothing as bad as that first day.

The good thing is that Harry is on relatively good terms with everyone in our class. Especially his budding friendship with little Anthy and her best friend (a tomboyish brunette) named Gabriella. The other classes… Those are another story. The class with Piers Polkiss in it is especially hostile towards Harry, and even more so towards me. The only other third class in our grade is rather neutral in this regard, with some students believing the vicious rumors and the others just wanting to stay out of the way.

My birthday was a couple of days ago, marking my sixth year in this new word. I once again had to struggle with cleaning up the mess of toys that the Petunia and Vernon felt necessary to buy me. A waste of money in my opinion because I had no interest in playing with toys made for toddlers. A couple of books would’ve been preferable, but that’s what the public library is for I guess.

The only gift I can say I really appreciate is the 20 pounds I got in a birthday card from Aunt Marge. Roughly 25 USD if the exchange rate is still the same as couple decades from now. Petunia wanted to put it away for savings but I insisted on keeping it. She looked like she wanted to argue but Vernon’s boisterous “let the boy buy something nice” and laughter kept her silent. One of the only times I’ve ever been grateful for his, honestly, terrible parenting.

I do want to spend it. It just isn’t what Vernon probably thinks I want to spend it on.

I had to wait a couple of days before an opportunity arrived. Today Vernon has to stay at work late and Petunia has a get together to attend (though I had to reassure her multiple times that Harry and I would be fine home alone for the day). The moment I found out I quickly whispered to Harry to get the things ready.

Right after Petunia drove off Harry and I waited approximately ten minutes before he quickly grabbed the bags from under my bed and handed me the bus route map.

“Alright let’s go.” I slip the spare key from underneath the welcome mat (a terrible place to have it) and quickly lock up the house. Harry is counting out the loose change we’ve gathered over the year, enough for two bus tickets. I remind myself that I’ll have to go and purchase bus passes eventually so that traveling won’t be such a hassle.

The trek to the bus stop is rather short and we arrive within ten minutes of walking. The bus arrives not long after that and we both board with only a few curious glances from the driver. I direct our path towards the back of the bus where we’ll attract less attention as two children traveling alone.

“So how do you know where to go?” Harry asks once we settle down comfortably. I love how inquisitive his is but sometimes it’s a real struggle to figure out convincing covers for where I get my knowledge.

“Ah…” Like now would be a good example, I’m not really sure what I can say, “... I just do.” I’ve used the excuse before but something tells me that Harry’s getting a little too old for that lame answer.

Harry squints at me, the right corner of his lip quirks up in annoyance. “You  _ always  _ say that Dudley. I’m old enough to know that excuse doesn’t work.” Rats. “I mean... I won’t push and make you tell me,” bless his precious soul, “but…”

I look over at his hesitant voice, cocking a brow.

“... you know you can tell me anything right?” Harry peers up at me with those expressive eyes and I have to fight the urge to give in. Forget precious soul, Harry’s a little devil who knows how to use his natural born weapons.

Still his words, more of a statement than a question, melts something in me and I smile softly at him, “Of course Harry. I… I’ll tell you one day for sure. Just not right now.”

He doesn’t seem pleased with the answer but sighs and agrees, “That’s alright I guess… But you have to pinky swear you’ll tell me one day.” Harry stares at me with a serious expression and holds his left arm out, pinky finger raised.

Pinky promises are a little silly since a hook of a finger doesn’t make a promise more binding in anyway, but it tends to mean a lot to kids. I roll my eyes and hook my pinky around his, humouring him. I don’t even know where he learned such a thing, certainly not from me. Anthy probably thought him. The preppy girl seemed like she would like these kinds of things.

Harry beams at me when our pinkies touch. He pulls our connected hands together in two large hand shakes (pinky shakes?) and disconnects from me. “There,” he says, “now you can’t break your promise.”

I don’t tell him that technically I  _ can,  _ instead I hum noncommittally. I’m still not sure if I want to tell him that I’m from another universe and that his entire world is a book in my old world. Scratch that, I really don’t want to ever have to do that. Besides the fact that it’ll probably have monstrous consequences and that people will think I’m crazy, but also because I’m not sure how that'll change Harry’s perception of me. Right now he thinks of me as his cousin and best friend, but what would happen if he found out that I’m really not and that his real cousin was the worst bully in his childhood.

Not to mention the fact that me replacing the original Dudley could be akin to having killed the boy. It’s a thought I usually purge from my mind since the idea that I could potentially be a murderer (intentional or not) doesn’t bode well for my mental health. I’m Dudley Dursley and that’s all there is to it.

It takes a while before we reach Charing Cross road, the multiple stops along the way only serve to drag the trip on longer. But we made it nonetheless. At least Harry wasn't bored at all on the bus like I had originally feared. The sights of inner London were enough of a fresh attraction to keep the young boy occupied especially while I was busy mapping the rest of our day out. Eventually the bus stops at our destination and we quickly exit off.

As soon as the bus takes off again I pull my bag off of my shoulder and rummage through the front section for the tub of concealer I stole off Petunia’s vanity a couple months back. Harry eyes me questionably as I pull out the jar of makeup.

“This,” I say holding up the container. “Is for that.” I poke him in the center of the forehead. Harry pouts and bats my hand away leaving me to chuckle at his childish reaction.

“What for?”

I hum and instead of answering him I swipe a finger through the tan cream and proceed to rub it onto Harry’s forehead. He attempts to bat my hands away again, clearly annoyed that I ignored him, but I just use my elbows to keep them at bay. At six and five, I’m already a lot taller and bigger than Harry. My arms have a longer reach and it’s clear who is physically stronger as well.

Once I’m finished I cap the container, toss it back into the depths of my bag, and rub the excess cream onto my jeans. I zip up my pack and look at Harry again, he’s still pouting and rubbing his head. “Sorry Har-bear, had to be done.” This next part I whisper softer, “That may just be a scar to you and me but to the people of the wizarding world it means a lot more. It could cause us trouble it someone were to see it okay?”

Harry’s glare softens a bit, “It that why we’re using fake names?” I nod.

“Don’t forget to keep up our cover okay? It’ll be like a game.” He seems to brighten up at the suggestion, “I’ll tell you more when we get home alright?”

Harry rolls his eyes, far too used to my mysterious antics. “Fine. Let’s just go already.”

It isn’t hard to spot the Leaky Cauldron, what with its old-timey wooden sign and general oldened appearance. Even in the late 80’s it’s a look in desperate need of remodeling. Though I suppose it probably helps in keeping out anyone who doesn’t know it’s true purpose.

A tug at my sleeve pulls me out of my musing and I look over at Harry pointing excitedly at something.

“Dud look,” he whispers to me enthusiastically, I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t keep calling me that once we’re inside. I follow his finger and spot a person walking. This particular person is getting some weird looks from regular street goers for wearing thick and long brown robes. Even though I already anticipated the wizarding fashion it’s still a little funny seeing someone actually wearing something so ridiculous out in public.

I nod sagely at Harry, “Mm. That my little Ursa, is a wizard.”

“Wow.” His eyes are shining with glee.

“Ha. Wait till you see inside,” I whisper. Actually, I’m also really excited to see Diagon Alley in person. It’s one thing to see it on screen and knowing it will all just prop work and the magic of cinema, but it’s another thing knowing that it’s real.

Harry looks disappointed when we step into the Leaky Cauldron and it looks like nothing more than a slightly run down pub. He sends a little look of betrayal my way that I swiftly ignore in favor of walking up to the bar.

A man, who I’m assuming and hoping is Tom, is wiping down the bartop when Harry and I approach him. It takes him a second to notice our presence before he looks over and gives us his attention. He smiles kindly at us, “May I help you two lads?”

“Yes sir,” I say taking the lead. “My brother and I are staying with a couple of our Muggle relatives. We’re supposed to meet our parents at Fortescue’s today and they told us to ask for a ‘Mr. Tom’ to help us open the gate to Diagon Alley?” A little wordy, but hopefully he’ll buy the cover.

Tom purses his lip for a second before smiling, “Of course of course. Just let me finish cleaning up the counter and I’ll open the entrance for you both.”

“Thank you sir,” I say politely.

“It’s no problem at all,” Tom waves me off. “I’m happy to help. You two boys have names?”

“Marco Evans sir,” I answer immediately.

“Lyle Evans…” Harry answers more meekly clearly intimidated by the hulking pub owner.

Okay, so I may be guilty of borrowing Lily Potter’s maiden name. But it was something that holds some significance to me that I won’t likely forget. Marco also held a lot of significance to me as it was the name of my youngest brother from my previous life.

Tom made a approving noise at the back of his throats, “Nice names. I once knew a young girl with the surname Evans. Sweet child she was. Grew up to be a fierce and powerful witch.” He gave us a crinkled smile, “Wouldn’t happen to be related to a Lily Evans would you?”

I gave him a tight smile back as Harry gives me a curious glance. Living together has given him an edge in reading me over other people. While I’m sure Tom hasn’t noticed anything else Harry clearly has noticed my subtle reaction to that name. “No sir. Maybe we’re distantly related?”

“Perhaps-”

“Tom, can you help me with these glasses please?” An unseen voice calls from the kitchen, “I’m having a little trouble. Vixen has been rummaging through the glassware again. It’s a bloody mess back here!” The person audibly lets out a frustrated groan.

Tom sighs and turns to face the kitchen and calls, “I’ll be right there Darren. Try not to make the mess worse!”

A reply, “I don’t think it’s even  _ possible  _ to make this worse.” The loud sound of glass shattering on the ground is followed by another groan. “Tom, please hurry.”

The barkeep turns to face us again and offers an apologetic smile, “Sorry lads. Duty calls. If you could just wait a couple of minutes this shouldn’t take too long.” Harry isn’t even listening as he leans up to try and get a look into the kitchen.

It’s a little setback but we should have plenty of time. I open my mouth to answer Tom when another voice speaks up from behind me first.

“I can take them through Tom. My brother and I were just heading for Diagon Alley anyways.”

I turn to face the new speaker as Tom replies, “Ah Willam, good to see you lad. Thank you so much. The help is much appreciated.” He scrambles to pick up some stray things and starts rushing towards the back. “You two boys should be fine with William, he’ll show you the way.” He then hurries off to help in the kitchen.

When I’m faced backwards I’m met with a shock of red. I blink in surprise as I take in the form of two people who are without a doubt members of the Weasley family. The two boys in question are much older than Harry or I but clearly still in their teens. The younger of the two looks to be just entering his teenage years or very early into it, with a round but strong face and rather stalking and broad for his age. The older one would probably be well into high school placing him at around 15 or 16 in terms of age, he has long shoulder length (bright, so bright) hair and is much more slender looking than his younger sibling. Both of them offer Harry and I disarming smiles.

“Hello boys, I’m William Weasley,” the older one says. “But you can call me Bill, it’s what everyone calls me. And this,” he gestures to the younger Weasley, “is my brother Charlie. I heard you two wanted to get into Diagon Alley?”

“Yes please, if you would be so kind,” I answer. “My name’s Marco Evans. This is my brother Lyle. Pleased to meet you Bill, Charlie.” Harry murmurs similar greetings next to me.

“It’s very nice to meet you too,” Bill flashes us a charming smile before gesturing towards a hidden wall towards the back of the pub. “Come along then. Charlie and I were just about to head through to finish shopping for some school supplies for the upcoming year at Hogwarts.” It’s at this point that I notice the large cotton shopping bags each of the brothers are holding and what looks like heavy books hiding inside. “Though I suppose you two are too young to be going to Hogwarts,” a laugh, “what brings you both to Diagon Alley?”

Harry beats me to the answer, “Meeting with Mum and Pa for ice cream.” I send him a questioning look as we begin walking and he just shoots me a discreet -mischievous- grin. Cheeky brat. Though I suppose I’m a little impressed at the sudden initiative he’s taking.

“Wow, that sounds nice,” Charlie makes an excited noise. “Haven’t gone to Fortescue's in a long time. Don’t suppose we could hit it up later Bill?”

Bill has his wand out and is tapping a specific sequence with it on the stone wall, “Maybe. Ma only gave us so much money though, we’ll have to see how much we have left over after getting everything.” The pockets his wand and the brick wall begins to fold and shift around, revealing a passageway. I watch the display of magic with awe. Harry, similarly, makes a giddy noise as he watches.

There’s a chuckle and I look up to see Bill staring down at us with amusement. “First time?” He asks. I can only nod and he laughs.

If we thought the doorway was amazing, it was nothing compared to the magnificence of Diagon Alley in person. Bill and Charlie actually had to stop and watch us both in amusement as Harry and I took in all the amazing sights and feats of magic. There is just so much amazingness happening that I can’t quite believe my own eyes. Our gasps and expressions of awe continue even as we begin walking again.

“Ya know,” Charlie says walking closer to me as we step through the shopping district. “Bill is gonna be Head Boy.” He loudly whispers it so that all of us can hear, there’s a playful grin playing at his face as he glances over at his older brother.

“I am not. Stop spreading nonsense to children,” Bill reprimands bashfully while Harry asks at the same time, “What’s a Head Boy?” My baby cousin has had a strong interest in anything Hogwarts related ever since I first mentioned the magical school to him.

Charlie eagerly jumps at the question much to the annoyance of his brother if Bill’s groan is any indicator. “Head Boy is a Hogwarts student handpicked by the Headmaster himself to be an example and lead the rest of the students. You have to get really good grades to become Head Boy -and girl of course, and also be a good role model.”

Harry’s eyes are wide with interest, he looks over at Bill suddenly and asks with reverence, “And  _ you’re  _ Head Boy.”

Bill has an embarrassed blush on his face as he answers, “No. Of course not. Charlie is just talking some hogwash. I was made prefect this year which does give me some responsibilities like a Head Boy or Girl, and it does mean that there is a chance that I may be made Head Boy in seventh year but I am in no means a Head Boy.”

Harry blinks again, “What’s a prefect then?”

“A prefect is…” Bill purses his lips, “Well. I suppose a prefect is rather like a Head Boy. But there are more of us and we have less responsibilities and authority. Students have to listen to us, but we have to listen to the Head boy and girl.” Harry nods in understanding.

“That’s really cool,” the young boy says sincerely to the older Weasley. “I can’t wait to go to Hogwarts myself.”

This seems to take some of the embarrassment away from the surprisingly bashful Bill. He almost seems touched by Harry’s compliment, “You’ll go soon. It won’t be that long from now I’m sure. How old are you Lyle? Four?”

“I’m turning six next month!” Harry declares proudly. I would chuckle at the answer if not for Bill’s comment striking something in me as I notice how much  _ smaller  _ Harry is than the rest of our class. He’s healthy and definitely more filled out than he had been in the previous timeline but I fear that he still isn’t eating enough. Bill isn’t wrong, Harry  _ does  _ look like he’s four.

“Oh, well congratulations,” Bill says. He glances over to me, “Are both of you five then?”

I shake my head, “I turned six last month. Lyle's two months younger than me.” I notice Fortescue’s in the near distance.

“I’m surprised you’re both alone,” Charlie comments. “Mum would never let any of us off on our own like that. She’s only letting Bill and I shop by ourselves this year because he’s gonna be a prefect.” Well that explains the absence of the Weasley matriarch, she has alway struck me as a very overbearing mother who rarely lets her children out of her sights. It’s no wonder the twins and Ron let loose and take so many risks during their Hogwarts year, and it also explains why Percy Weasley is the exact opposite in this being overly neat instead of rambunctious.

I shrug, “Mum and Pa know we’re mature enough to take care of ourselves. We go a lot of places by ourselves.”

“Yeah yeah!” Harry chimes in, “We’re always going and doing things alone!”

I shoot him a warning glare, not wanting to blow our cover but Harry just smiles. Clearly enjoying this game.

“That sounds like heaven,” the younger Weasley bemoans. “I wish Ma would let us do that more often.”

“Don’t whine Charlie,” Bill sighs. “It’s unbecoming. Also Ma just cares a lot about us.” He sends us a concerned glance, “Not that I’m suggesting your parents do not care a lot about you two of course. I’m sure they really do.”

I just smile and say, “Don’t worry about it. There’s no offense taken.” We’re right in front of Fortescue’s now, “It looks like this is our stop. Thank you for showing us the way Bill and Charlie. It was really great meeting you both.”

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you!” Harry pipes up. I have to wonder where this sudden burst of confidence is coming from. Usually Harry is a rather reserved and quiet child.

“It was nice meeting you both too,” Bill says with a warm expression. “Hopefully we’ll meet again.”

“Bye Marco. Bye Lyle!” Charlie says waving us off as they walk away. Harry and I wave back, though Harry’s is much more enthusiastic than mine.

We wait several minutes until we can’t see hide or hair of bright orange. Then I lead us both away from the ice cream shop. There’ll be plenty of time to enjoy some leisure time later.

I wanted to head for Gringotts as fast as possible before I quickly realized that that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I let Harry enjoy his walk through the magical district, slowing perusing past the amazing shops and interesting sights as we headed for the magical bank. We aren’t pressed for time, but I still worried that we may take too long. Eventually we reach the bank though.

Harry takes in the sight of the slanted building and strange architecture with a curious expression on his face. His opens and closes his mouth several times before glancing over at me, “Dud. I know magic can do amazing thing but…  _ That,”  _ he points at the bank. “Architecturally shouldn’t be possible.” He struggled a bit on the word “architecturally” but I’m proud of his for using it anyways, though I had been surprised when he took a sudden interest in my architecture books. “I mean… why?”

I shrug, “Maybe they don’t know how to build buildings in the wizarding world.” Now that I think about it, it wasn’t like they taught a math class besides arithmancy for third years and up as an elective. Something tells me that most architecture in the wizarding world is done through magic. Which is honestly a rather crippling weakness. These people are so reliant on magic.

After agreeing that wizards are just plain weird both of us walk up the flight of stairs (a rather difficult task for two tiny six-year-olds) and enter the building. We’re greeted by a large bustling bronze and marble hallway. Witches and wizards walking around with a sense of purpose and direction as they filtered through the crowd, into teller lines and in and out of the various back offices. Harry makes a curious noise when he spots the Goblins glaring down at their work from the teller stations. I’m rather interested too as I late in the tiny, menacing looking creatures all wrinkles and sharp edges. I can see why a majority of the wizarding world finds the goblins a prickly bunch if this was only how they looked. From memory I know that they can be much worse and much more unpleasant than their outer image would already indicate. I can only hope that the next few hours go over alright.

I have dealt with my fair share of unsavory lawyers and contractors from my previous life. But I’m not sure how I’ll fare against these harsh looking beings.

“This way Harry,” I call to my cousin briskly as I spot an empty teller station. I grab his hand with all intentions of heading straight for station when a voice jars me to a stop leaving me suddenly feeling drained and worried.

“Harry? Harry is that you?” Says an unknown voice behind us.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses to who the unknown speaker is? First guess gets an imaginary prize! :)
> 
> (Please feel free to leave a kudo and comment on your way out <3)


	3. Chapter 3: Gringotts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goblins can be assholes (we know). Dudley and Harry read books (how exciting). And a monster appears.

..::Chapter Three::..  
Gringotts

“Harry? Harry is that you?”

It takes a lot of willpower to make my limbs move again and continue walking forwards. Thank goodness that my hesitation was brief and hopefully unnoticed. I just Harry’s hand a little squeeze to let him know not to look back at the person calling him, though I’m have a sinking feeling that I know who it is too if the tired and wary tone of the voice is anything to go by.

There is a brief sound of shuffling behind us like the person is undecided whether they want to follow us or not. I pointedly ignore it and continue my march forwards even as Harry begins to shoot me several questioning (and some demanding) looks. The shuffling stops after a few seconds, a sigh, and I can heard footsteps retreating from us as they grow softer. Relief swarms my chest.

I know that Harry’s fame is unavoidable in the long run. I know that eventually we will have to get involved in cannatical events and characters. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t try and avoid it for as long as possible. The situation is muddled and unclear enough as it is and bringing in attention to ourselves like that will only serve to make things worse. For now, even if it is someone (I suspect one Remus Lupin) hurting and searching they’ll just have to keep suffering until I can be sure that Harry will be safe. A premature meeting with a plot-heavy character could have many unintended consequences in the future. Already I’m regretting letting the Weasley brothers escort us through Diagon Alley but at least neither of them suspected Harry’s true identity. Unlike the mysterious speaker.

“Who was that?” Harry whispers to me. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought and something akin to frustration. I can’t blame him. We just bypassed a chance meeting with someone who clearly knows Harry if they can identify him at a glance. A boy desperate to know his past isn’t going to lightly let that one go.

“No one,” I answer in a clipped voice but I shoot him an expression that says ‘I’ll owe you’.

Harry makes an annoyed face at my answer but luckily drops the subject as we approach the teller. We step up in front of the Goblin and -not for the first time- I mourn the loss of my adult body. Having to look up and strain my neck just to talk to people gets pretty tiring after a while, and in this case my head doesn’t even reach the counter.

I look up expectantly, waiting for the Goblin to notice my presence. It becomes clear after a few seconds that either the Goblin didn’t notice me or is purposefully ignoring me. I’ve an inkling it’s the latter.

“Excuse me Master Goblin,” I call up. “My cousin and I wish to speak to the Potter vault representative. Could you help us?”

It becomes very apparent when we continue to receive no response that the bank teller is ignoring us. A flash of red irritation spikes through me as I narrow my eyes at the Goblin.

“I said,  _ excuse me  _ Master Goblin,” emphasizing each word hard. “But we need to speak with the Potter Vault representative, if you would be so  _ kind _ .” I’ve had to deal with these types of bias and rude pink-collar workers in my last life. Rarely a pleasant business but ultimately unavoidable. One learns to be pushy when traversing the wonderful world of customer service and representative administration.

My last comment seems to catch the teller’s attention because he raises his head slightly and glares down at us with those beady black eyes. I’m a little taken aback by the sight of those large black pupils dwarfing out any white sclera but I school my face into one of a collected composure. I can already feel those eyes judging me and any sign of weakness was enough for the sharks to come a feeding. So I meet his gaze straight on and confrontational, jaw just slightly jutted out in challenge.

It takes a moment for the Goblin to speak up. He sneers at us, flashing us those rows of sharp pointed teeth ( _ perhaps my shark analogy isn’t so off after all),  _ and answers dismissively, “Go away. I have more important things to do with my time than entertain a pair of  _ wizard-spawn. _ ” He spats out the semi-derogative term, “Now leave before you scare off my clients.” Then he returns to his paperwork.

My eyes are blown wide in shock. I understand that Harry and I look young, but I had spoken as politely as possible. Magical bank or not this is still a bank and service like this… My irritation turns to fury and I fight the urge ( _ damn this immature impulse control, it will be the death of me one of these days)  _ to snap back at the rude Goblin. I breath heavily through my nose, face flushes with embarrassment at being so easily dismissed, and Harry shooting me worried looks before I take a deep breath and reply with the last thread of my self-control.

“I see no other patrons in line for your teller Master Goblin, except of course the two standing before you now. If you do not assist my associate and I, I will be forced to file a complaint to your management about this ill-mannered treatment.” The teller looks back down at me, anger now evident on his face only second to the fury that I feel boiling in my chest, “I expected better out of the highly-regarded Gringotts establishment.”

The Goblin rears back, shark-like teeth now in full view as he lets out a low guttural noise in anger, “Now see here you impudent spawn-!”

A sharp voice behind us interrupts him.

“Riftgok, what is the meaning of this?”

The teller’s -Riftgok’s- expression immediately transforms from anger to a ruffled mortification. Riftgok leans back in his seat and fusses out his suit looking both annoyed and worried at the same time (I’m sure the annoyance is directed at me). His beady black eyes are staring intently at the speaker behind us. Harry and I turn to face the newcomer.

The sight that greets us is that of an older Goblin, with white tufts of professionally groomed hair and skin heavily wrinkled (even to the standard of regular Goblins) and appearing paperthin. Clearly we are in the presence of a being much older than any of us. His face is sharp and stern, seemingly hardened in a permanent glower. His equally beady eyes survey the situation with an intense and frightening intelligence.

“Riftgok, explain.” He commands.

The teller clears his throat, clearly intimidated by the older Goblin (I don’t blame him, I’m immensely intimidated too. I feel Harry’s fingers close in tightly around mine), “My apologize Gorkrus. These two,” Riftgok’s narrowed eyes snap sharply to Harry and I, “wizard-spawn refuse to leave and insiste on playing around.” My mouth closes into a thin hard line as I once again meet his glare straight on.

“Your associate lies Master Gorkrus,”  _ god I hope I didn’t butcher that name.  _ Riftgok hisses at the accusation. “My cousin and I approached Master Riftgok’s teller in hopes of accessing a vault. Not only did his ignore us and refuse to offer his services,” the teller sneers and opens his mouth to protest but I continue cutting him off. “But he also insulted us. This type of behavior is unacceptable, especially that of the esteemed Gringotts bank.” I look at the older Goblin, “I may be young, but as a client of the Gringotts establishment I am deeply offended at this intolerable treatment.”

Gorkrus is silent and it appears like he is contemplating the situation. Finally he lets out a sharp sight and settles his worker with a icy stare, “Riftgok, apologize at once to our clients that you have insulted.”

“But Master Gorkrus-”

“At once Riftgok, I won’t have your behavior tarnishing the good name of our fine establishment,” Gorkrus says harshly, leaving no room for argument. If Riftgok wanted to complain he kept it to himself because he looks properly chastised and scared. He faces Harry and I again, a small sneer still evident on his face.

“My deepest apologies valued clients, my behavior was inexcusable,” he grits out reluctantly. Pride probably bruised at being scolded by his boss then having to apologize to two wizard  _ children. _

I let out a miffed noise but also reluctantly accept his equally reluctant apology, “No harm no foul,” I decide to answer. “As long as this doesn’t happen again we should not have any problems with the bank in the future.” There, now they’ll think twice before doing anything underhanded or acting upon any prejudices in the future now that I’ve placed the thinly veiled threat of taking my business elsewhere.

“Very good,” Gorkrus says in a cold tone. “Now that that has been settled perhaps I may be of service to you both. May I have your names young masters?”

“I am Dudley Dursley,” I say then take a brief glance around to make sure no one was listening and I continue in a softer voice, “and this is my cousin Harry Potter. We were wondering if we could see what vaults Harry has to his name and what we can access at this time.”

The only tell that Gorkrus is affected by the mention of the boy-who-lived’s name is a slight widening on his eyes. Nearly unnoticeable but I make it a rule to keep an eye out to small details like that. You never know what can give away a person’s inner monologue.

“Very well,” he answers. “Please follow me Master Dursley and Master Potter.” He turns and begins walking without checking if we were following. I shoot Harry a reassuring look before nudging him forwards. He just gives me a contemplative look before following after the old Goblin.

We are led through to the back halls of the Gringotts building. Narrow passageways (equally as extravagant as the front parlor) with multiple doors on either sides that reveal offices. I see that both Goblins and wizards alike work in this back rooms though there are far more of the former. We continue walking until we stop at a door.

Gorkrus sharply raps on the glass door and opens it when an affirmative sounds from inside. Harry and I shuffle in behind him.

In the office is a busy set up (much like all the offices here), with multitudes of shelves piled high with paperwork and accounting transactions. A familiar looking Goblin sits behind the large mahogany desk.

The Goblin looks up and seems to give a start at the sight of his boss. “Gorkrus. How unexpected, is there something you need me to do?” He eyes Harry and I suspiciously.

Gorkrus clears his throat, “Griphook. These two young masters are Mr. Dudley Dursley,” a pause, “and Mr. Harry Potter. They seek access to the family vault.”

Griphook’s eyes widens in shock as his boss turns to us and speaks, “Griphook here is the Potter family accountant. He is incharge of all Potter estates, vaults, and assets. He will assist you.”

“Thank you Master Gorkrus,” I answer him kindly.

“Thank you,” Harry speaks up more timidly, his earlier gusto with the Weasleys clearly dashed in the presence of such an intimidating Goblin.

Gorkrus grunts out an acknowledgement, “Well. If that is all then I will be on my way. Griphook will take good care of you.” Then he turns and leaves.

Griphook seats us down and begins waving his fingers around and magically sorting out the mess of papers in the room. We watch in awe as he pulls up the correct files with mere flicks of his wrist. Wandless magic on this scale is incredible. Given, Goblins aren’t wizards and most likely work magic in different ways but it’s still humbling to see. Harry and I have a long ways to go in the art of wandless magic.

Once all the appropriate documents are set Griphook turns his attention to us, carefully observing each of us.

“I can see that you are Mr. Potter,” says the Goblin looking at Harry. “I’ve worked with the Potters for many decades and that hair is very much a distinctly-Potter trait. However…” His voice trails off as his head turns towards me, black eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I do not recognize you, nor do I know of any wizarding family by the name of Dursley.”

“I am Harry’s blood cousin,” I answer immediately. “Our mothers were sisters. Harry currently lives on my muggle parent’s estate with us.” I can tell he’s mistrustful of my involvement with Harry and the Potter vaults so I add, “You needn’t worry Master Griphook. I’m not here to liberate cash from the Potter fortune, I am simply here to assist my cousin in getting all his assets sorted. Of course, there are a few questions that I would like to ask if you would be so kind as to answer.”

The Goblin merely raises a brow at me, still not completely trustful but seemingly less suspicious as before. “Very well then though I was not insinuating that you have any ulterior motives,”  _ bullshit,  _ “and I would be pleased to answer any questions you have for me Mr. Dursley. In the meantime, let us get these assets, as you said,  _ sorted out. _ ”

I nod rigidly.

“Before we begin though,” Griphook says pulling out a piece of parchment. “I will have to first confirm your identity Mr. Potter as is with security protocol.” He places the paper before Harry and gestures to the corner of his desk at a small black cylinder, “this is a blood test that will confirm your identity. Simply place any finger into that hole and prick it lightly on the blade within and drop three drops of blood onto this sheet of parchment.”

Harry physically pales at the suggestion, “Uhh…”

“Don’t worry Har-bear,” I grab one of his hands and give it a comforting squeeze. “It’s just a little cut, you’ll be fine.”

Griphook nods clearly taking pity on the frightened boy, “Of course I will offer you some gel to put on your finger afterwards and it should be all healed up within seconds.”

“See? There’s nothing to worry about,” I tell him reassuringly.

Harry stares at my face then his own morphs into one of determination, “Alright. I can do this.” A little more hesitantly he reaches his free hand over to the blade and quickly pricks his finger with only a small flinch. “Ouch…” Harry hisses out but determinedly holds his injured finger over the parchment and squeezes out three drop of blood.

Griphook hands over a jar which I immediately take and open, generously applying to the tip of Harry’s finger. “Good job Har-bear.” Then he grabs the parchment and pulls it closer to him and watches as words appear on it.

_Harry James Potter_ _  
__Son of- James Fleamont Potter_ _  
__&_ _Lily Joy Potter (née Evans)_ _  
___Born: 31 July, 1980

Harry’s green eyes grows as he drinks in the names of his parents hungrily. Meanwhile, Griphook and I continue with the business at hand.

“Alright, now we may proceed,” the Goblin comments. “Just let me pull up the files of your list of accounts.” I nod and wait as he sorts through the papers on his table. Within seconds he pulls out various sheets and lays them out in an orderly fashion, I count five.

“These are the list of vaults under Mr. Potter’s name,” Griphook says. “This here,” he gestures to a document with a red and yellow coat of arms on it, “is the main Potter family vault. Mr. Potter will not be able to access this until his seventeenth birthday when he comes of age, at which time he will be presented with the Potter ring of Lordship and the title of Lord Potter. For now this,” he gestures to another document also with the same coat of arms, albit smaller. “This is the trust account made in Mr. Potter’s name by his parents. He may access this vault at anytime, though it only hold money and no family treasures or heirlooms. Each year, approximately three hundred galleons are deposited into the trust from the main family vault.

However,” he continues. “An additional five hundred galleons are also distributed into the trust annually due to the condition stated here,” his points his gnarled finger to a small section of fine print that I would've missed. “It’s stated here that an additional five hundred galleons are to be added to the existing three hundred existing galleon annual allowance if anything were to happen to James and Lily Potter.”

I do the math quickly in my head. Three hundred galleons the first year then a subsequent four years (five come January) where eight hundred galleons were deposited, that leaves… My mind whirled with calculations.

“Wow,” I breath out.

That leaves a whopping  _ thirty-five hundred galleons  _ sitting in Harry’s trust vault, simply collecting over the years. I don’t even want to know how much cash is in the main Potter vault if that’s the case.

“What is the muggle pound to galleon exchange rate?” I question.

“Roughly seventeen pounds currently.”

The calculations took a little longer this time but I quickly come up with the answer. That is nearly sixty thousand in pounds and eighty-seven thousand in USD. That is  _ a lot of money. _

Still in shock at how rich the little five-year-old next to me didn’t even know he was, I have to shake myself out of my amazement and ask Griphook to continue with the vaults.

“Next we have the Black family vault,” the Goblin says. “Due to the incarceration of the last remaining Blacks the vault would’ve gone to it closest relative. However, the incarcerated Sirius Black was the only candidate left to inherit the Lord Black title which gives him full control over the family vault. In his will he left everything to James, Lily, and Harry Potter. Since James and Lily are deceased, Mr. Potter here stands to also inherit the Black family vault if no one else challanges his claim. There is one other Black relative that can challenge this claim, but I doubt Lady Malfoy will do so, especially since she has not done so yet.”

I nod, “And the Black family Lordship?”

“Because the title Lord Black still belongs to Sirius Black, incarcerated or not, Mr. Potter does not stand to inherit that title either unless the current Lord Black relinquishes his title -for which he cannot do imprisoned, or if he becomes deceased in which the same case for the Lordship as with the family vault stands. Lady Malfoy can challenge for ownership of the title.”

Well, hopefully if my plans all go well then none of these issues with the Black family vaults and or titles will persist. I may be reluctant to get involved with canonical characters but for my plans to work I will have to get involved with one.

“This next vault is Sirius Black’s personal vault where he kept a few of his personal valuables as well as a sizable amount of galleons. The last inventory taken counted around twenty-one hundred galleons. This vault, like the Potter trust, can be accessed by Mr. Potter immediately.”

Not as much as the trust but still a lot a lot a lot of cash. I can only imagine if I had this kind of money to take care of my family in my last life. Maybe ease my father’s hard life instead of him and my sister Teresa having to work a million jobs just to feed.

I shake my head. That’s all in the past now, what’s done is done and irreversible. My family and I lived a good life together, happily and lovingly, even if it was a very hard life at time.

It still hurt to think that some people just have this type of money lying around.

A cough by Griphook brought me back into the present. I offered him a sheepish smile as the Goblin continued.

“This final vault is a bit of a mixup. Yes Mr. Potter does stand to inherit it, as with the other two family vaults, when he comes of age. But there are certain… conditions he must meet first.”

I furrow my brow in confusion. Even Harry’s attention has been grabbed as he offers the final vault document a bemused look. I ask, “What is the vault?”

“It is the Peverell family vault and the Peverell Lordship,” Griphook answers blandly. “As I said before, Mr. Potter is a descendant of the Peverell line and meets base qualifications to inherit the vault. However, there are other conditions that must be met before he can inherit the vault.”

_ Peverell family…  _ “What conditions?”

The next thing he said sent me for a doozy.

“We do not know,” he says. “There definitely  _ are  _ conditions stated. But we cannot view the conditions.”

I give him a blank look. “What?”

“There is some ancient magic safeguarding the rules of the vault. Gringotts does not have the ability to break these safeguards -nor would we be willing to break policy by doing so. What we do know is that there  _ are  _ conditions that cannot be viewed.” Griphook adds, “The Peverell vault has been in Gringotts for centuries and no one has met its qualifications yet. And trust me, many have tried. I’m only showing this to you because it’s bank policy to disclose all relevant information concerning assets and accounts. I have high doubts that Mr. Potter, or anyone really, will be able to access this vault.”

~*~

When I questioned the Potter family accountant on the confidentiality of our visit I was met with an interesting answer.

_ “All meetings are completely confidential,” Griphook says. “But I must point out that should Mr. Potter attempt to access his trust vault then his Magical Guardian will be notified that it was accessed.” _

_ I stiffen, “And... Who is Harry’s Magical Guardian.” _

Three guesses to who it is.

I mentally groan.

Albus fucking Dumbledore.

Not only is he a hugely influential canonical character, but he’s also a crafty and manipulative old geezer to boot.

With the ability to  _ read fucking minds. _

I had foreseen that this may be an issue but dealing with it is on a whole ‘nother level. There is no way that Harry and I can just waltz into the trust vault now. The longer we stay off Dumbledore’s radar the better. And I personally would like to wait until the last possible moment before being involved with the powerful wizard and if all goes good then I still have another five years before he becomes an issue. But as things stand I’ll avoid a confrontation if at all possible.

But Harry, sweet blessed Harry, sweet blessed  _ genius  _ Harry made an excellent observation.

_ “What about Sirius Black’s vault?” Harry pops into the conversation suddenly. I hadn’t even noticed that he was listening in, let alone actually following along with what we were saying. _

_ Griphook looks contemplative, “Hmm… It is true that accessing the Potter trust will alert Albus Dumbledore. But Sirius Black is technically still alive so perhaps Dumbledore may not have jurisdiction over the vault. There may be a loophole we can exploit here. Please wait a moment while I go check and see if I can work something out.” _

So we waited for Griphook in his office.

He returned after nearly forty minutes, by which time Harry had already fallen asleep in his chair, using my lap as a head rest.

Apparently the Potter vault representative had to pull a few strings here and there but worked it out so that Harry can visit Sirius’ personal vault without alerting anyone to his presence. I thanked Griphook profusely and gently roused Harry from his nap (he rubs his eyes so cutely) before we followed the Goblin towards the vault.

Which is how we are where we are now.

Riding in a damn death cart going at neck breaking speeds down through a dark series of tunnels and caverns. My stomach protests loudly at the unnatural movement and I’m reminded that even in my past life I  _ hated  _ scary amusement park rides. And this is ten times worse because not only are there no seatbelts, but the cart also isn’t actually  _ attached to the rails. _

I’ve never prayed before but I find myself praying to any god I can think of now. This is not how I imagined my second death.

At least Harry is enjoying himself.

He’s just standing there looking all exhilarated as the wind whips past us and he’s barely containing his shouts of glee. A prelude to his life-long love of quidditch I’m sure. I have to yell at him to make sure he doesn’t throw his hands up in excitement instead of holding on for dear life like I am. 

My face turns green.

“If you need to throw up, please do so over the cart,” Griphook remarks dryly, somehow still audible despite the shrieks of wind flying around us. I just send him a tiny glare and grip my stomach (and cart) tighter as we roll and bounce deeper into the dark cavern.

Harry just laughs.

~*~

We step out of Gringotts, pockets heavy with coin.

Harry gave me permission to manage his money and Griphook seemed to get that I was the one in charge and that Harry is still pretty much a little kid so he didn’t kick up a big fuss. I collected some coin and distributed some to Harry for his own personal spending for the day and some for myself. Then I purchased a bottomless coin purse for three galleons (cheapskates, that’s more than 75 dollars) and filled it with a couple of handfuls for future use so we don’t have to keep coming back to the bank (and we won’t have to ride the death trolley either. Win-win in my opinion). I also had Griphook direct us to the exchange office where I made the exchange with galleons for some two hundred pounds of Muggle money and we left on our way.

“Where do you want to go first?” I ask Harry, “We still have a good hour and a half before we should start heading home.”

“Fortescue's!” Harry immediately exclaims and I roll my eyes at him.

“Alright, alright you little bugger.” I rub his head in which is once again bats my hands away with a pout, “Ice cream it is then. But not too much, sugar isn’t so good for you ya’know.”

It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes at me, “I  _ know  _ how sugar works Dudley.”

“It’s Marco now Lyle,” I smile at him teasingly. “Remember our game? We can only use our real names with the Goblins because they need to know our names for us to use the bank.”

“And  _ you  _ still have a lot of explaining to do  _ Marco _ ,” Harry says cheekily. I just give him an exasperated smile and gently cuff on on his head.

“All in good time my dear Ursa, all in good time.”

When we reach Fortescue’s Harry is enraptured by the sight of so many ice cream and ice cream choices. He makes a beeline for the display window with all the buckets of ice cream sitting glistening. I take a more leisure pace and just take in the sight of the once fictional ice-cream parlor.

Honestly, I prefer Baskin Robbins.

At least they have strawberry cheesecake ice cream (with actual chunks of cheesecake. It’s divine).

But like with the carts, Harry is happy. He eagerly buys a flavor of ice cream I can’t identify and bounces back to me with his prize.

“Look Dud-Marco!” He presents the frozen treat to me, “It’s called pumpkin crumble and it’s pumpkin pie flavored.” I do notice that between the orange and brown swirls there are sprinkles of crust here and there. “Want some?”

“No thank you Ursa,” I decline. “Not a big fan of pumpkin. It does sound good though.”

Harry just shrugges as if saying ‘more for me’ and begins eating his treat. I watch his green eyes light up with joy and I can’t help but smile at him. Harry notices me though and pauses in his eating.

“Wot?” He asks, “Is there sumthing on my face?” He begins rubbing at his cheek with his free hand.

I burst out laughing and reach out to pull his hand away from his face, “No, nothing. There’s nothing on your face Ursa.” I chuckle a little more and give him a warm smile, “I just… You’re so cute sometimes.” I poke his nose with my thumb and watch in amusement as the boy chases my hand away and denies my claims of him being “cute”.

“But you  _ are  _ cute! But that’s okay because you’re my cutie alright?” I say to him. Harry just blushes and grumbles, giving up and passively subjecting himself to my treatment. I laugh again, “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. Hurry up and finish your treat, I wanna go to the bookstore.”

~*~

School picks right off where it left and passes by quicker than I expected (especially since day after day is filled with nothing but unchallenging work designed for children). I should feel a little more jealous that Harry and Anthy have been spending more time with each other this year (its sweet how taken Harry is with the preppy blonde) but I can’t find it in myself to be jealous that we spent less time together (during school that is). Those two, and their now mutual friend Gabriella, have become thick as thieves and spend most of their school days together. It’s nice to see Harry really enjoying himself as a kid and playing and laughing with friends.

It also helps that I have a good stock up of wizarding books purchased fresh from Flourish and Blotts. Harry bought a good few texts too but not nearly as much as me. The rather pricey bottomless book bag I picked up just for the occasion came much in handy though, especially in hiding said books from Petunia.

One book we picked up was  _ He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: The First Wizarding War  _ and after skimming through to search for obvious bias-ness I deemed the book a good start to explaining Harry’s heritage and legacy.

Least to say that had been an interesting conversation.

To say Harry had taken the news well would be giving the boy too much credit. Harry may be mature in many ways but an adult he is not. I do have to give him some credit though as the news had not been taken well but there was no screaming or breaking so that was good. However there was, understandably, good deal of tears shed, especially when it came to his mother and father. Not matter how much my maturity has rubbed off on Harry it was still an interesting reminder that he’s still a child.

One thing I did make it clear though was that no matter what pedastal the wizarding community put him on Harry is not some sort of miraculous messiah or savior.

Harry is special no doubt. But I’ve seen where that hero complex of his had taken him in the original canon storyline. Luck had played a big role in the defeat of the Dark Lord in J.K Rowling’s tale but I have no qualms that fate will be playing cruel tricks on us. Luck will not be on our side and I’d be foolish to believe it will. Success is where preparation and opportunity meet and I’ll not meet that path halfway. If prepared is what we must be than prepare is what I’ll do.

Then I explained about Sirius Black.

Harry immediately recognized the name as the man who had left him two vaults and had been both shocked and ecstatic when he learned that Sirius was his godfather. Then I read on and the boy became enraged when he heard of his godfather’s (framed) betrayal. Like I said, there was no yelling or screaming but the fury had been evident on his pudgy toddler face. I had to quickly rectify the situation by explaining that Sirius was framed and hadn’t betrayed his parents. Though I was surprised by how immediately Harry agreed to believe me despite not having any proof.

When asked he answered,  _ “I trust you Dudley. If you say Sirius is innocent then I believe you.” _

Of course, afterwards came the determined declaration of saving Sirius from his false imprisonment. Which I had to quickly shut down because we’re still toddlers and saving Sirius is a feat currently beyond us. I did, however, promise to look into possible ways to prove his godfather’s innocence. I did not mention Peter Pettigrew's status as a animagus.

The following summer vacation allowed us to once again make sparring trips to Diagon Alley. Like the previous year we were careful to hide our identity each time we entered but the soon route and comfortable pattern made us complacent -made  _ me  _ complacent- with the magical world. I’d forgotten that wizards are just as much the vile and depraved creatures as the monsters you see on the television, and that Dark Lords and Death Eaters are not the only things to worry for. With that and the relaxed comfort of routine came mistakes. Small and unnoticeable mistakes.

But with dire consequences even I would never be able to predict.

~*~

The book I’m holding looks interesting but I’m not sure if I really want to add it to my already large pile of reading material. The title is  _ A Complete Comprehensive Guide to the Theory of Wand Movements  _ by Augusta Weiry and details in, as the title states, the theory of wand movements. I’ve already skimmed through bits of it and it looks promising. There is an entire fifty page chapter on the different types of upward flicks at the end of a  _ motus - _ the technical term for a complete series of wand movements. Spell inventors use this type of knowledge to fashion spells, such as if one is designing an offensive spell then a short and sharp upward flick to end the  _ motus  _ will yield the best results with the lowest chances of magical backlash. That is of course, assuming you use a wand at all seeing as only around 60 percent of the wizarding population uses wands -the other forty percent using either a completely other channeling medium or no medium at all. It’s all terribly interesting.

However, I’m not going to be able to even use any knowledge I get from this book for another four years, and there are absolutely no books on wandless magic in Flourish and Botts or Obscurus Books. I have my doubts that I’ll have much luck anywhere else. Perhaps in Knockturn alley but I won’t dare enter there alone, not to mention that I also have Harry with me.

Speaking of the little tyke.

Harry jogs up to me out of breath and sweating, struggling to hold up a stack of four books. I quickly eyeball the titles of each and note that there is exactly one -thin- book on architecture and no less than  _ three  _ books on magical law. I roll my eyes because he already has  _ eight  _ of them at home. Somehow, after our talk about Sirius, it translated to an intense obsession with reading up on law. When I first caught Harry stumbling unsuccessfully through a thick tome on non-magical law in the library he had admitted that he was looking up ways to save Sirius. I reminded him that wizarding laws are sure to be different than those in the muggle world. I honestly expected him to give up the endeavor (I know how tedious and confusing legal jargon can be) but the next time I found him with the same law book and an open dictionary Harry had reasoned that he was practicing for reading the magical law books. I decided to just let him at it then. Who am I to hold back such determination?

It also turned out to be a good thing because I also took the time to read up on those wizarding laws when Harry wasn’t using the books.

“Are you sure you want to read up on,” I pointedly look at one of the books, “ _ Wizarding France: Laws and Policies _ ? Where did you even find a book on French laws? I doubt it’ll help much in what we’re trying to do.”

“I want to learn French,” Harry declares pushing up the iconic circular-rimmed glasses, that Petunia finally bought for him, up his nose.

I blink. This is the first I’ve heard of this. I crack a smile at him, “You know, there are much more efficient ways to learn another language than to read a law book. Isn’t it written in English anyways.”

“It’s in English  _ and  _ French,” he says matter-of-fact as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. I just sich and pat his head.

“Do what you want Lyle,” I drawl returning to my book. I think I’ll get it if only for future reference. Maybe it’ll help me channel magic endlessly? Who knows. I set the heavy book on top of the rest of the pile in the feather-light basket. “Are you done picking out your books then? You wanted to get some confections right? We’ll have to stop by Rosa’s for lunch first then we can go. We should have enough time.” I pick up the basket and start maneuvering us through the store.

It takes a bit to reach the counter with Harry’s heavy books and all the Hogwarts students browsing and shopping for the upcoming year (which is the only reason Harry didn’t get a basket, because they were all gone), and another fifteen or so minutes just waiting in line to get to the cashiers. But we finish paying for the books and are out of the store in no time. All our books go into the bottomless bag I’m carrying.

We eat small sandwiches at the teahouse for lunch, I have a cup of tea with lemon and Harry a cup of hot coco. Then we walk to the confection’s store.

I really want to get a chocolate frog. I watch Harry browse excitedly through the store while I stand awkwardly to the side. I look down at my growing belly, a small frown playing at my lips. Sugar is a definite no. Not if I don’t want to grow like the original Dudley. I have no idea what monstrous genes that Vernon most definitely passed down to me, but I’ll have no part of it. This terribly metabolism is going to be the death of me.

I look at the taunting chocolate and mourn.

When I tear my gaze away from the delicious confections I notice that I’ve lost sight of Harry. My frown grows deeper as I look casually around for any sign of my baby cousin. My focus is so intent on where I’m looking that I don’t even notice the pounding of feet behind me before it’s too late.

“Gah!!” A shout rips from my mouth as a body tackles into my back. I nearly drop my bag as I stagger forwards and all I can hear is a tinkle of familiar laughter.

“Harry!” I snap loudly turning my fury onto the smaller boy. He  _ knows  _ I startle easy. I pry his arms from around my waist, gently but firmly, and I hold him at arm's length. He just stares at me with those mirthful green eyes and cocks a lopsided smile at my angry face. “Apologize now.”

“‘M sorry Marco,” his smile drops a little as if he’s suddenly realizing that I’m actually angry. “I was just playing around.”

I raise a brow, “You call tackling someone  _ playing around _ ? I know I’ve taught you better than that Lyle. That was rude. Not stop smiling like a goofball and apologize to me properly.” I’ve cooled down some and the anger is mostly gone from my voice. Perhaps I overreacted a little but he seriously  _ scared _ me.

“I’m really sorry Marco,” Harry says a little more quiet. I sight and pull him in for a hug.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I got mad,” I reply. We just stand like that for a few moments before we’re interrupted by a cough.

I release my cousin and turn my head around to the person calling for attention. It’s some wizard, looking to be in his thirties or so though you can never tell with magical creatures, and he’s smiling at me sheepishly and holding something familiar.

“I believe you dropped this young man,” he says holding my bag towards me. My mouth forms an ‘O’ and I quickly grab it from him.

“Yes yes, I’m so sorry for the trouble,” I babble out embarrassed. This guy probably saw that hole embarrassing exchange between Harry and I. I quickly throw and adjust the strap over my shoulder and turn to face the man completely, “Thank you for your help sir.”

“It was no problem at all lad,” he smiles.

Eager to get out of the whole situation already I tug Harry’s arm to my side, “Thank you again sir. Ah, we should probably be going. Our parents will be wondering where we are.” Harry shoots me a annoyed look, probably because he hasn’t bought any of his candy yet but I ignore his plight and start directing us out of the store. I’ll make it up to him later. I shout a quick “thank you” again over my shoulder and briefly catch the man waving kindly at us before turning down the path towards the Leaky Cauldron.

“You owe me candy,” Harry grumbles adjusting his glasses.

“And you owe me a new back,” I counter. Harry just opens his mouth then closes it as he fails to find a retort.

He settles for, “Well you still owe me candy.”

Despite my embarrassment I laugh.

~*~

The third school year starts and like the year before things pick up from where it left off.

Harry is sitting in a corner whispering happily with Anthy and Gabby as the three plot whatever it is seven-year-olds plot. I’m seated at my desk reading the public library’s copy of Wuthering Heights. The rest of the class is mingling around, either chatting or doing their own little thing.

Our teacher Mrs. Miller was called out to a last-minute staff meeting and the only adult currently in the room -besides myself- is the underpaid janitor Mr. Dauson. It’s been nearly half an hour already since class was put on hold. Not that I’m complaining, reading Emily  Brontë ’s drama-filled tale of family, love, hate, and revenge is much more thrilling than learning elementary spelling that I could probably write in my sleep. Still, this is a rather strange occurrence.

Suddenly the door opens and in steps Mrs. Miller, looking rather pale and worried, and behind her walks the straight-laced and stern Principal Wilhelm, her face grim.

“Attention class,” Mrs. Miller calls nervously playing with her blonde hair. “Principal Wilhelm is here to tell us a very important announcement, so please pay close attention and give her your utmost respect.”

My brows furrow. An announcement so important that it has to be done in person instead of over the intercom? A foreboding feeling filled me as I gingerly set down my book.

Principal Wilhelm studied the class and waited till everyone was silent before continuing, “As your teacher told you. I have a very important announcement to make. From now on, after school you will all remain in your classrooms until your parents come to pick you up.” A chill crept up my back, “As I’m sure some of you know. Young mister Robby Johnson has been absent for some days now,” her calculating eyes swept the class as if debating her next words carefully. “He has been found. There is a bad person going around doing bad things to little boys and girls like you so I need you all to be very careful and listen to everything your teachers tell you to do. And I mean it when I say that you will stay in your classrooms after school lets out. There will be strict and severe consequences for anyone who dares disobey this rule. Do I make myself clear?”

A entire class rears back in fear. The students glancing around at their friends worriedly but a chorus of, “Yes Principal Wilhelm,” sounds from the children anyways.

“Good,” Mrs. Wilhelm says. “That will be all. You may now resume your class Mrs. Miller.” She turns and leaves the room and I stare after her in shock.

Robby Johnson. He’s a student in our grade but in another class. I never talked to him before but I know that he’s a rather tall boy with black hair and grey eyes. Wilhelm didn’t say it but I’m old enough to read between the lines.

A student is dead. Kidnapped and probably sexually abused before being murdered and left out for the police to find.

I look around the class and meet Harry’s worried green eyes. We hold each other’s gaze for a moment. Fear grips at my throat but I offer him a small reassuring smile. It seems to bring some light back into his eyes because he smiles back and turns to continue his conversation Anthy and Gabby. When he looks away my smile turns into a deep frown as I let my inner turmoil run through my brain as I try to think of possible outcomes.

I conclude that as long as we stay safe and follow the teacher’s orders we should be fine. I let myself sigh but the worry barely alleviates.

_ Dark Lords aren’t the only monsters in the world,  _ I think bitterly.

~*~

Two weeks later another student goes missing. His name is Ethan Green from the grade above us. He was a short boy for his age with green eyes and dirty blonde hair, often teased for his height and thick-glasses.

His body is found five days later.

~*~

Jamie Campbell goes missing. Same grade as us, dark hair grey eyes.

~*~

Timothy Shoe from our class. Black hair, brown eyes, and wears the same type of glasses Harry does.

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. And horror washes over me when I realize what is happening.

_ Dark hair and glasses,  _ my mind whispers darkly as fear grips my heart. These students are all replacements.

_ Oh my god. Harry! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note:
> 
> An UPDATE! YAY! And another (sorta) cliffhanger.
> 
> So I'm sure some of you will be wondering, why Dudley feels embarrassed at the candy shop. It's because, while it is perfectly acceptable for a child to act in that way Dudley sometimes forgets that she is a child. Also I'm still trying to get a hang on this whole 'characterization' thing. I'm sure I'll improve as the story goes on.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Not sure when I'll post the next. I haven't even started working on it yet. Ah well. It'll come when it comes. It's not good to rush these kinds of things ya'know? :)
> 
> -The FireCrest <3
> 
> (Please feel welcomed to leave a review on your way out. They motivate me to write more, and kudos are also welcomed.)


	4. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic violence in this chapter. Mentions of vomit and blood. Pedophilic intentions and actions (nothing graphic though).
> 
> Desperation grows. Dudley fails. Harry is invisible. And a monster is slain.

Petunia and Vernon were not happy when the news of Robby Johnson reached them. A call had been made out to all parents and Petunia had rushed out of her afternoon tea with her girls to come pick Harry and I up. She had looked very upset when she ushered us towards the car, face pinched in worry and suspicion.

Vernon got a call at work from his wife. He had been quite angry at being interrupted at work but made a promise to not take anymore late hours for the unforeseeable future.

Before he got home Petunia called for both Harry and I and with stern but caring voice (surprisingly also directed at Harry) went over safety rules and guidelines with us. Despite having always disapproved of the two of us spending time together she made it very clear that we were both to stick together and in a group from now on, and always in the presence of a trusted adult. They were all rules I already knew but I humoured her anyways and nodded along. Petunia also forbade Harry from doing anymore chores outside (much to the boy’s delight, as he hates gardening). Then she gave us both a tight hug. My shock at her behavior almost rivaled my shock at the sudden dark twist of events in our lives.

Vernon had not been happy with Harry’s cut chores and tried to reason with his wife but Petunia put her foot down for once towards the large man and refused. Saying that her nephew’s safety was more important than trying to work any freakiness out of him. The sight had warmed my heart despite her debatable choice of words. Still, it was a good change.

Weeks and months past, and as the bodies of the boys began piling up as did the tension and tightened security in our lives. School became a little quieter as Timothy Shoe’s blaring lack-of-presence made itself known in our small classroom. Oh the kids still played and laughed, but there was a thick air of fear and tension there too and a subtle lack of energy behind their words and actions.

Some students were also missing from the class. Their parents scared enough to take them out of school and enroll them somewhere else when it became clear that St. Grogory Primary and Little Whinging were the primary hunting grounds for the loose killer. The sudden decrease in students did nothing to alleviate the sense of fear permeating through the town. Little Whinging has always been a respectable place with no major incidences besides the occasional automobile accident. A resident serial killer was not only unexpected but wholly unprepared for too.

Christmas break passed without much fanfare. I, per usual, got showered in more expensive presents than I recieved in my previous life. Most of it unusable for me besides being dust collectors. Surprisingly, Petunia took the time to carefully pick out a present for Harry. My cousin had been pleasantly surprised, and bemused, when his aunt handed him a silver wrapped box with his name written on it. Harry was quick to recover and offered her his biggest smile and a loud “thank you” before gingerly unwrapping the present.

He got a new set of clothes. A nicely knitted navy blue sweater, a crisp white undershirt, and a pair of jeans. All in his sizes.

Harry and I had both been in awe at the present. For so long Harry had been forced to wear my old and faded clothing or cheap gray second-hands, both options that hung loosely on his smaller frame. Pierrs Polkiss and his gang often likes to make fun of Harry for his clothes.

To an outsider the present may not be much, but to Harry it was the world.

Vernon had been equally as surprised as his wife and had shot her questioning looks throughout the night, which she ignored in favor of preparing Christmas dinner in the kitchen. He had been even more unhappy when Harry excitedly tried on the clothes and wore them around the house all day. Petunia did make it clear to Harry that he would have to wash the clothes himself and keep them in nice order, least he wear them down. He promised that he would.

Break ended and school started with an unhappy surprise.

Gabriella’s parents, fearing for their daughter, had sent her away to stay with her grandparents until the town was safe again. Anthy had cried for an entire week straight and nothing Harry could say could comfort the usually dogmatic blonde girl. It put Harry is a bad mood, as Gabby had also been his friend but also because he couldn’t talk to Anthy while she was so upset.

Today is now the third week of the new semester. Anthy recovered from her initial grief and began talking to Harry again. They’re currently in their, now usual, corner of the room discussing something. Harry is wearing the outfit that Petunia gifted him. He looks really good in it and Anthy agrees, much to Harry’s embarrassment. He had blushed so hard when she complimented him for the first time, it was really endearing to see him so flustered in the presence of the little girl. I’m not sure if that crush will go anywhere, they are just kids after all, but it’s still cute to see. I wish I had a camera.

Or a smartphone, but those haven’t been invented yet. Tis a shame.

We just finished a math block where Mrs. Miller quizzed us on our times tables up to five. I finished first naturally and proceeded to take out my current reading material (A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, it was a challange to keep my laughter to myself while the rest of the class took their quiz). Harry followed at a close second, both due to me tutoring him over the years and his own personal interest in architecture, and the only reason he didn’t finish faster is because Harry still needs to work on his penmanship. Though that is something that will come with age and experience. I still struggle a bit with finer motor control since muscle memory is apparently not something that is passed over through lives.

The rest of the class takes a bit longer to finish. Anthy, who has always struggled in math for all that she excels in the more creative aspect of her education, finished last much to her disappointment. I had offered to give her additional tutoring a few months back but the young girl has a surprisingly stubborn streak and declined.

The bell rings just as Anthy sets down her pencil and Mrs. Miller reminds us all to stay where the teachers can see us during recess and releases us from class.

I decide to stay in, as usual, and read instead of playing outside. Anthy is already excitedly pulling Harry towards the door and I just give the two a quick wave goodbye. Though, as much as I love Douglas Adams, his classic is a series I’ve already read countless times in my past life. Despite all his ridiculous humour my adolescent mind is already wandering and my hands are itching to open up that wand movement theory book I picked up on our last trip to the wizarding world. I’ve been reading through that text at a slower pace than normal, very much enraptured in all the complexities of channeling magic. As such, I’m currently only about halfway through the book on Chapter Sixteen, where Augusta introduces various types of woods and wand cores and how they may affect the movement.

Based on the weight, constitution, magical conductivity, and natural traits of certain wand materials it changes how effective certain spells are. Such as an owner of a aspen wood wand would find it easier to perform duel-inclined spells than, say, regular household charms. In incanting an offensive spell the owner of the aspen wand wouldn’t need to flick quite as sharply or as hard at the end of the  _ motus  _ (for most spells favor flicks or jabs to finish) as a owner of, let's say, a hazel wand. But the aspen owner, when performing a regular charm would need to emphasize the elongation and fluidity of the ending flick to garner better results. In both cases, all wands would still have to flick sharply for offensive spells and elongate for mundane charms but an aspen wouldn’t need to do so as much for the offensive and would have to stress the elongation. Spell work is all essentially the same, but as with language it must be personalized to the individual for the best results. Just as no two person says the word “orange” quite the same no two wizards perform a spell quite the same either.

Another interesting thing is that it’s not only the individual movements in a  _ motus  _ that create a spell, but also the length and position of the rests (or lack of rest) between them. A  _ motus  _ is comprised of two main parts, the  _ tomus  _ or the different movements such as a flick or swirl, and the  _ recensere  _ (though most people shorten it to  _ sere  _ for convenience) defined as the rests between each new  _ tomus.  _ If a wizard is not clear with their  _ sere _ then the spellwork will become messy and unclear, leaving the sequence of  _ tomus  _ to bleed into one another and messing up the spell. There is an almost musicality to it.

In a dance sequence, if a dancer does not take the correct beats between movements then they’ll eventually be off tempo and the dance will be wrong. Just the same, if the dancer does not take the correct amount of beats for each movement they will also be thrown off time. This, coupled with the fact that the wand composition and the wizard themselves can change the spellwork (or in the analogy, the tempo of the beats), is why new witches and wizards struggle with new spellwork despite following directions fully. It takes time and practice, with little unconscious adjustments to the  _ motus  _ to successfully perform the correct spell and garner the desired result.

Like I said before, it’s all terribly fascinating.

In my musings on the intricacies of wand work, the movement outside the window almost escapes my notice. Luckily my body is positioned in such a way that my eyes are almost immediately drawn to the shadow. And at the sight of it I bulk up, shooting into a tense position. Instantly my sympathetic nervous jumps into action causing my breath to seize and come out short and fast as my heart leaps in my chest.

The shadow is across the street in a vague shape of a person. By the height and shoulder width I deduce that that the person is probably a man, but I can’t see much else than that. Which is strange, because the sky is clear and the sun is out. The man should be fully visible, especially to my magically enhanced vision.

But he isn’t. Instead, the man seems to be draped in shadows, all discernible features hidden from my sight. There is also a faint urge in me to look away when I stare at him. It sets me on edge. More so when I realize that his position is set up perfectly so that he has a clear view of the playground outside.

This time my heart leaps into my throat. What business does a grown man have with watching children? I slowly set my book down, not bothering to save the page. I stand from my seat, careful not to take my eyes of the suspicious figure across the road from the school, and slowly make my way towards to the front of the class where Mrs. Miller is grading our quizzes. She looks up when I reach her desk.

“Ah, Dudley. May I help you with something?”

“There’s a man across the street,” I say to her tensely, still eyeing the silhouetted figure on the sidewalk. “He’s been staring at the school for a while now.”

Mrs. Miller looks up at me alarmed and quickly whips her her towards the window following my line of sight. After a moment she makes a noise, but instead of one of concern it’s one of confusion.

“Dudley, I don’t see anybody there,” she comments in confusion. She looks back at me with a concerned and stern look, “Are you sure you saw someone? It’s not nice to play games you know. Especially not with a monster on the loose. You could cause a real panic.”

Despite what she’s saying, there is clearly a shadowed man standing across the road staring intently at the playground. Fear grips my heart even tighter as my mind races with questions. I can only reach one logical conclusion:

Magic.

I’m probably the only one that can see the person, if they even are a person, and that it won’t do me any good to push the issue. If the person across the street is really using some sort of magic to become undetectable (explaining his darkened presence and my inability to discern any features) then there are probably few people that’ll be able to help me in this situation. Certainly not Mrs. Miller at least.

So I bite my lip and quickly offer my teacher and apology, “Sorry. I thought I saw someone. I probably imagined it.”

She raises a brow as if she’s not quite sure whether to believe me or not. But I’ve always been a good student, never caused trouble (except for that first day nearly two and a half years ago) so she just sighs and lets it go. “It’s fine, just be more careful next time.”

I nod and walk back to my seat, still keeping the shadowy figure in the corner of my eye. I sit back down and open my book. But I don’t read a single word for the rest of recess. Instead, I subtly watch the man for the entire time. Up until the bell for recess ends and the students begin filing back into the classroom. At which point the shadowy figure walks away.

When Harry and Anthy walk into the class, relief floods me. I know that the suspicious figure hadn’t moved for the entire duration of recess but I have no idea what his magical abilities and capabilities are. All I know is that he had creepily watched children play for nearly twenty minutes, has some unknown ability, and that all the victims up till now have all shared an uncanny resemblance in some way or form to Harry.

I may not be Harry’s mother but I can’t help my natural maternal instincts screaming bloody murder. I don’t have concrete proof that this shadowy figure is connected with the gruesome murders (and after stealing the walrus’ newspaper, I know exactly how gruesome those deaths were), but my gut instincts have never been wrong before.

Someone is definitely after my baby. And they’re closing in.

~*~

I don’t see the shadowy figure everyday. After a few weeks I’ve noticed that he shows up only on Wednesdays and Fridays and only for brief time periods. He must have a job or something which elevates his probability of being a wizard higher. I’ve already ruled out vampire (all victims had plenty of blood left at the crime scene, and I’m not sure how they react to sunlight in this world), and he likely isn’t a werewolf (the violent murders do not share any notable pattern with moon phases). I’m not too knowledgable on other magical humanoid-creatures and it’s only now that I’m regretting picking up a book on it during our summer Diagon Alley trips.

I don’t ever notice the shadowy figure near our house though, which lowers the probability of him targeting Harry. But my gut instincts say otherwise so I don’t bother ruling out that. There is also the fact that there are blood-wards around the house (barely discernible to my naked eye besides a slight red shimmering occasionally), and perhaps the man knows about Mrs. Figg and her numerous numbers of intelligent kneazles. There is always at least two or three cat-like creatures watching the house at any given moment so perhaps the stalker has been deterred by their presence. I can’t know for sure but I don’t want to take any chances.

So Saturday, I pretend to be sick and I stayed locked in my room all day. It became hard to fight of the exhaustion when night came but I managed to stay awake for the entire 24-hour duration, in which time I noticed no hide or hair of the mysterious stalker.

I still continued to keep an eye out for him after that day though, especially on Wednesdays and Fridays on which he always shows up like clockwork.

Then one day things escalate.

“Bye Harry,” Anthy calls back and waves cheerfully at her friend which Harry returns just as enthusiastically. Anthy’s father smiles fondly at the interaction as he leads his daughter out of the classroom (too bad he’s a married man and I’m seven, because he is one hot dad and also great with kids).

The afterschool rule is still in effect and we’re all waiting for our parents to come pick us up.  Though things have been getting a little more lax recently since it’s been nearly two months since that last abduction. The lack of attacks lulling everyone into a false sense of security.

Harry gets up from his seat and walks over to join me at mine. I glare at him when he snags one of my apple slices off of my desk. He just offers me a cheeky smile shoves the entire slice into his mouth. I roll my eyes muttering something about bad manners as my gaze shifts over to the window out of habit.

I know I’m not going to see anything since it’s a Tuesday, but my paranoia and suspicion have made looking out the window an unconscious habit.

So it comes at a huge surprise when I see the shadowy figure, not so shadowy anymore and those are  _ definitely  _ wizarding robes, leaning down to talk to what is clearly a St. Grogory student. I also notice that my eyes unconsciously want to move away from where the pair are standing (the suspicious wizard looming over the unsuspecting boy) in what I’ve already deducted as a notice-me-not charm.

Harry most notice me tense up because he places a hand on my arm and offers me a concerned look, “You okay Dudley?” He follows my gaze and looks confused when he obviously cannot see the same thing I’m seeing.

I nod stiffly, not taking my eyes off the horror right outside the school. Then I stand abruptly, startling Harry. Mrs. Miller gives me a questioning look.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I announce to her robotically, unsure of what I’m want to accomplish. My body had moved on it’s own when I stood and now my mouth is acting without permission. All I know is that I need to do  _ something,  _ lest I be responsible for another victim. Currently it seems I’m the only person capable of seeing the wizard, a phenomena that will require more observation in the future. I’m the only one with any chance of doing anything.

Mrs. Miller nods her consent. “Just be quick and come straight back to the classroom,” she orders. I voice my understanding, offer my cousin a quick “stay here Harry”, and walk straight out of the room. I trust that he’ll be smart enough to stay put like I told him, though he probably won’t be happy about it.

It’s a panicked rush as I sneak my way through the school. There are security guards posted at every entrance so those are out of the question. Quick thinking leads me to go to my original faux-destination and I slip into the boy’s bathroom. This way, if anyone saw me walking through the halls they won’t sound the alarm. There is also a window in the restroom, a bit high, but big enough to fit someone my age. Luckily no one is in the bathroom.

The struggle is in climbing up to the window (using the stall walls as a hold) and hoisting myself up. I notice that it’s getting harder to pull up my own body weight and I make note to cut more out of my diet -especially sugar. Petunia likely won’t be happy but I’d rather her be briefly miffed with me than be obese.

The tumble to the ground from the high window is a bit scary. But tucking my body and rolling on impact lessened the damage. A few cuts and I’ll definitely have bruises later but nothing worse. I quickly double check my surroundings for people and take off around the school towards where I’d last seen the wizard and the boy.

I thank my lucky stars when I rush around the building and they’re still there. Although, by the looks of it the wizard is getting a little more pushy and has his large hands on the boy. Bile rises up in my throat as I slow to a walk and approach the two.

Now that I’m closer I can see that the boy is from the class right next to mine. His name is Bryce Simmons and his gray-green eyes are almost as brilliant as Harry’s and his neat mop of black hair is only a shade lighter. I’ve spoken to him two or three times in all the years we’ve been to school together. Though whether or not he’ll recognize me is another story. Hopefully the boy is smart enough to play along.

“Bryce!” I call out to him as I get closer to the two. The boy in question whirls around in surprise and something akin to relief floods his eyes. Perhaps he isn’t so stupid, though I do have to wonder how he came to be out here all alone. I continue, “Mrs. Emerson has been looking for you,” I name his teacher, “she says that she’s got your homework.”

The wizard looks at me in shock but it’s brief and he quickly schools his expression into a friendly smile. I cataloge his features and commit his face to memory. He’s wearing black robes, has dirty blonde hair, and looks to be in his thirties. That strong nose (rather wide) and sharp jaw looks familiar but I can’t put a finger on it.

“Ah, hello there,” the wizard greets before Bryce can reply to me. “You must be Bryce’s friend from school. What’s your name little one?”

“Corey Beckett,” I lie. No need for this creep to know my real name. I smile innocently, “Bryce. We should go or Mrs. Emerson is gonna be mad.”

“O-oh-! Yeah!” Bryce stutters out, starting to pull away from the wizard. I have to fight the narrowing of my eyes the hands gripping the boy’s arms tighten and pull him back. Bryce looks back up the the wizard with thinly veiled fear.

“Now, now,” the wizard says soothingly. “I’m sure Mrs. Emerson can wait. But Bryce and I have some important business to get to. Isn’t that right Bryce?”

“I-” the boy opens his mouth, eyes shifting back and forth, unsure of how to answer. I beat him to it.

“But Mrs. Emerson is going to be reeaaally mad,” I argue childishly. “Besides, I’ve never seen you before. Who are you?” I demand. Hopefully, he’ll be stupid enough to provide me with a name. Next chance I get I’m reporting him to the auror authorities, Dumbledore finding out be damned. Children are in danger.

The wizard offers me a closed eye smile, “I’m a friend.”

I raise an eyebrow, “That isn’t a name.”

“I’m a friend,” he repeats again, a light bite to his voice this time and I fight to narrow my eyes.

“He says his name is Jason Hencurse!” Bryce blurts out suddenly. Fear for the boy shoots up through me when I notice the sudden violent expression on the wizard’s face, that appears just as quickly as it disappears. This is a really dangerous situation. This Hencurse is clearly not a stable man and I’m not sure what’ll set him off. Clearly he didn’t want me knowing his name.

I decide to keep playing it innocent and I scrunch up my face, playing up my natural cuteness as a kid. “That’s a weird name. I’ve never heard of Hencurse before.”

Hencurse smiles strained, “That’s because it’s an old family name Corey.” My mind races with ideas to try and fix the situation.

“Anyways, Bryce we reeaaallly have to go,” I strain. “Like REEEAAALLLY have to go. I’m gonna get in trouble otherwise.” A pout for effect. I even reach out to grab his hand in mine, carefully though while keeping an eye on the wizard’s face for any sudden changes.

I nearly gasp when Hencurse roughly tugs Bryce away from me.

“Hey now, you shouldn’t just grab people. That’s rude,” he chides at me.

_ Speak for yourself you fucking pedophilic creep. _

I snap at him angrily, “Well Bryce is my friend and he’s okay with it. I don’t want to get in trouble so we have to go right now!” I’m beginning to panic. The situation is quickly falling out of my control.

The wizard seems to consider me for a moment, eyes calculating and careful. Again he smiles and I can’t help flinching back when he reaches a non-threatening hand out. “I’m sure Mrs. Emerson won’t mind, why don’t you come with us Corey?”

_ Hell no. _

Unsure of what to do I debate using physical force to get Bryce away. The wizard probably won’t expect an attack, and a sharp kick to the shin will probably stun him long enough for me to get Bryce away from him. But what after? Hencurse can easily pull out his wand after recovering and then we’ll be fucked. I’m not even sure if the notice-me-not charm will lift off of Bryce if I can get him away from the monster. My heart is beating rapidly in my chest as perspiration begins to gather on my face. My flight-or-fight instincts kick in as I prepare to lunge into attack.

“DUDLEY DURSLEY!”

My tense body falters as I peek up panicked. I curse my bad luck when I see Mrs. Miller, looking furious, crossing the road towards me. I take a quick look back at Bryce to see relief fill his expression at the sight of the teacher. But all that grips my heart is dread. The boy doesn’t know that I’m the only one who can see him.

Hencurse looks momentarily startled, then his eyes narrow as he registers that I had probably provided him with a false name. A sick grin spread across his face that only I can view. In a split moment of rash and impulsive decision making, I disregard my mask of a primary-schooler and lunge forwards toward the pair.

The wizard doesn’t seem to expect the sudden movement because he jerks back in surprise, but also tugging Bryce back with him. I swipe my arm forwards viciously but my arms are just shy short of reaching the pair as my fingers brush uselessly against Bryce’s green jacket.

But I only have a moment for dismay at my failure to separate the boy from his would-be-killer to settle in when a hand roughly grabs my shoulder and pulls me away.

“Let go!” I cry out shrugging the grip roughly off of me as I reach out towards Bryce and Hencurse again. Bryce and I meet gazes only briefly before a loud crack sounds deafening throughout the street. My mind can’t comprehend what just happened as the atmosphere distorts before me and I’m falling through empty space where the two once stood.

“What in the world!” Mrs. Miller exclaims at the loud sound as I fall to my knees on the concrete. She whips her blonde hair around looking for the source of what she probably perceived as a gunshot. But I’m not even paying attention to her anymore.

My hands grasp uselessly at the ground as reality settles in. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat as I begin to sob.

I just sentenced a boy to his death.

~*~

“What were you thinking Dudley!” Petunia cries out at me. She looks like she wants to shake me but settles for pacing back-and-forth in the living room instead. Her face is scrunched up in fury and worry. More fury than worry. “How could you do something so reckless.”

I stare straight ahead, not bothering to meet her gaze. My eyes are glazed over as I watch the wall in front of me expressionless. I’m seated on our couch as Petunia paces and scolds me for leaving the school grounds alone. But I’m only listening to her with half an ear, the other is too preoccupied with the nightmare on repeat in my head.

Just that single moment. That loud crack. Then the empty space before me.

_ Oh god. _

I want to cry, sob, break down and beat the ground. But I can’t. My body just feels so numb and my mind is on an endless tormenting loop. I can only sit there on the couch dead.

“... and if you had been hurt!” Petunia suddenly stops in her pacing. Her face morphs into an expression of horror as tears gather in her eyes. Abruptly she has her arms around my smaller frame and sobs into my shoulder. “Never ever do that to me again,” she cries. “Never make me worry like that again Dudley. What would I do if something happened to you?” I blankly note her shivering form.

Mostly, her words strike something dark in me as I think to Bryce’s own parents and what they’re probably going through right now. I never got to hear what happened since Mrs. Miller had immediately called Petunia, and Harry and I had been picked up promptly. Likely, as the students began to leave or when Bryce’s parents arrived they would’ve noticed the boy’s absence. The police are probably scouring the school right now.

Petunia is still sobbing into my shoulder. I’m reminded that I should probably comfort the woman. Absent-mindedly I reach a hand up and rub her back soothingly and murmur, “Sorry Mum. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I promise not to do it again.”

She babbles something incoherently into my shoulder as I continue to rub her back. Her arms tighten around me as if she’s worried that I’ll disappear if she doesn’t hold on tight enough. Part of me feels guilty at worrying her so much but a larger part of me is too preoccupied with all consuming thoughts of Bryce’s fate to follow that line of thought.

I have to go to the aurors, I realize. I have to go and report this before it’s too late.

Later that night when Petunia has calmed down and Vernon has been updated with the situation they sat me down and went over safety rules. Dread was all I felt thought when they began enforcing more rules and regulations. I realize in horror that the chances of me being able to successfully leave and report this with the wizarding authorities had drastically declined. I wasn’t to go anywhere or be anywhere without an adult. Harry and I had been confined to the house off of school and neither of us were allowed to leave the classroom during break either.

I had tried to protest but had been met with strict glares and promises of more restrictions if I broke any rules. I was also given the punishment of doing dishes for the next two weeks. I knew it was bad when even Vernon agreed relent to me to do manual labor.

When I finally went to bed that night my mind was filled with plots and ideas for how I could get away without being caught. When I wasn’t plotting guilt ate me alive and nightmares plagued me whenever I closed my eyes. Least to say, I did not sleep that night or for many nights after that.

Still, what I was going through probably had nothing on what Bryce had to endure.

~*~

I tried everything I could think of.

But after Bryce’s disappearance was announced the false sense of security Little Whinging had been lulled into was blasted away as the entire community snapped back into awareness. The security in school grew tighter and there were more community night patrols being organized. I was blocked at every turn and any openings for escape I discovered closed as quickly as I found them. It was a frustrating two weeks.

Then they found Bryce.

When I got the news I had ran to the bathroom (much to Mrs. Miller’s anger) and threw up my entire lunch into the toilet. Harry had shot me several concerned looks when security dragged me back into class.

The bags beneath my eyes grew worse after that announcement and I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the article on Bryce’s murder. Though based on hushed whispers throughout the town it had been the brutalist yet.

And it was all my fault.

I should’ve tried harder. Whether that was to save the boy when he was in front of me or get to the wizarding authorities, either way I should’ve tried harder. Screw the repercussions, I should’ve found a way even if it meant openly defying my parents and being confined to my room for the rest of my life. This isn’t a game. This isn’t a children’s book full of magic and wonder wherein the hero always wins in the end.

This is real life. And an innocent boy is dead.

“You aren’t paying attention.”

I blink up lethargically to see green eyes narrowed at me in accusation. Harry has a cute little pout on his face that I can’t find the energy in me to fawn over. Between us is a couple of broken pencils lying uselessly on the ground.

“Oh,” I intone. My lack of response seems to further agitate the seven-year-old. In a uncharacteristic fit of anger Harry roughly pulls his tiny hands from mine and crosses his arms across his chest.

“This isn’t going to work it you’re just going to daydream all day,” he accuses. Something about his red and distressed face stirs me from my lethargic sleep-like wake. Harry continues, “It’s like you haven’t been here for weeks now.” I frown as pinpricks of guilt stab at my gut.

Harry is right. I’m smart enough to recognize the telltale signs of depression in my latest behaviors. Actions such as not paying attention, lazing about, a distinct lack of energy, and the inability to work up effort to do anything. It’s just that everytime I try to do anything or think to hard, I all can imagine is how little Bryce would never be able to do anything again. I keep seeing his frightened little face flashing before me. It makes me just want to curl up and die again.

But… Harry still needs me, and I’ve been letting him down.

“‘M sorry Har-bear,” I apologize. “I’ve just been having a hard time, especially with…” Should I tell him what’s been bothering me? He’s just a little boy, but I did promise to share my thoughts with him as much as possible. I swallow, “...especially with Bryce’s death.”

Harry looks at me in surprise, “You were friends with Bryce?”

“Something like that,” I allow. “We weren’t close. We didn’t hang out or anything, but we did share a very important moment.” Yeah. The moment where his life was forfeit. “It hurts that he’s gone now. I feel like it’s my fault.”

A moment of silence passes between us and I can see that Harry’s mind is churning and calculating what my words meant and how to respond. A beat and his eyes light up with comprehension. I wonder what he came up with.

“Well…” Harry begins, “I don’t really know how you know Bryce. But I don’t think it’s your fault… No, it’s  _ definitely  _ not your fault.” I’m actually a little startled by how unwavering his confidence in those words are. “Unless you are the one who kidnapped him and killed him it’s not your fault. You aren’t the monster that took Bryce away. It’s their fault whoever they are.”

I’m shook by those words. I know I’ve had a profound impact on Harry’s personality and intellect but a seven-year-old shouldn’t be as smart as Harry is. As insightful as he is. It only cements my opinion that Harry is a very special little boy and I have no doubt that even if he wasn’t the boy-who-lived he will one day shake the world.

A sad little bubble of laughter escapes my mouth as my mind fully processes his words. Harry looks alarmed at my reaction and his face read questioning concern. But I just shake my head and allow the first tears since that day on the sidewalk to fall from my eyes. I do feel guilty. The guilt is eating me alive. But it’s not like I could tell anyone what happened that day that monster took Bryce. The guilt has just been festering inside me for all these weeks, and to hear it from someone else’s mouth that it isn’t my fault… Well, it’s a pretty significant effect on my brittle emotions. Somehow, Harry’s words have brought forth my bottled feelings but also channeled me with a sense of relief.

I laugh again. How pathetic. A grown woman being comforted by the words of a toddler.

“Dud? You okay?”

I’m not sure whether to shake my head or nod. I’m kinda a mix of emotions right now and I’m unsure of how exactly I feel. I settle for a noncommittal noise which does little to pacify Harry. He scowls at my response and moves towards me.

Tiny warms arms wrap around my shoulders and pull my head in towards an equally tiny chest. I make a questioning noise through my quiet sobs but I only feel Harry shake his head as if to tell me to accept his treatment.

Surprisingly, my blubbering dies down to slight sniffles. I feel an urge to laugh again, but that’ll probably worry the seven-year-old anew. So I just sit there and allow him to comfort me silently. Our pencil pet project sits to the side forgotten. We’ll have to fix those later since Vernon won’t be happy to find destroyed supplies and blame will undoubtedly be placed on Harry.

“Harry!” We hear Petunia call from down stairs. “Come help me set the table!”

The boy in question shifts from his spot and pulls back, but still keeping me in a hug. He looks at my face determinedly, searching for something. He seems to find whatever it is he was looking for because he nods and stands up. Harry stalks across my bedroom floor to the door and calls back downstairs, “Coming Aunt Petunia!” He leaves.

I’m left wondering what just happened. I glance to the forgotten pencil for a moment and sigh. Hurriedly, I gather them up into my hands and hide them underneath my mattress. Harry and I can practice magic later.

I notice that my face is sticky with tears. I wrinkle my nose at the unpleasant feeling and walk over to my dresser where a box of tissues is at. I snag a few and begin to wipe at my face when I notice a slight movement in the window above the dresser.

My body reacts before I can perceive the sight before me as my heart spikes into a rapid beat and my breath hitches. I nearly fall backwards in my shock. Familiar fear crawls up my back.

Because there, way down the street if Private Drive, nearly unseen, is a tiny black figure cloaked in shadows.

~*~

The newest sighting set me on edge. I had been so panicked that I had stayed up the rest of that night and periodically checked the faint shimmer blood wards around the house. By time morning came around I had lost any and all appetite.

My tired and stressed condition must’ve been obvious because Petunia had exclaimed in worry at the sight of me. She kept pressing her hand to my forehead all morning to check to fever and I had to continuously tell that that I was fine. Harry, likewise, also kept shooting me concerned looks.

I could see what they meant when I went to the bathroom later. The boy staring back out at me in the mirror would’ve sent me into shock too. Pale faced, dark rings, lackluster and droopy hair, and an all around sickly appearance. It certainly wasn’t a pretty sight and it did look as if I was sick and unhealthy.

I didn’t have much of an appetite for the rest of the day either and handed off most of my lunch to Harry, who continuously shot me troubled looks all day. He insisted I eat but I waved my cousin off. Anthy had been a little annoyed that Harry wasn’t paying much attention to her as usual but allowed him to play mother hen when she saw me. Mrs. Miller’s reaction was somewhere along those lines too and she had offered to have security take me to the health room, which I refused.

I was a little annoyed. I’m  _ fine.  _ I’m just a little tired is all, but within good reason. Paranoia kept me awake for most of the night and kept me alert for most of the day. I’m more attentive than I’ve been in weeks which is a good thing. I have to keep an eye out for the monster after all. I had to keep an eye out for Harry.

Petunia was not happy when she came to pick us up. She demanded to see my lunch box which I showed was void of food. I didn’t tell her that Harry ate most of it of course, and luckily the toddler didn’t rat me out either. I threw him an appreciative expression which he returned with a look of worry. But he still kept silent.

I’m just not hungry. And it’s not like I need the extra food anyways, I’m already slightly overweight.

I did relent to eating dinner however, especially since Petunia looked like she was going to bring the issue up with Vernon. Harry kept glancing between her and I all throughout dinner, a guilty look on his face.

Once again I didn’t sleep much that night. The paranoia that Hencurse was watching the house was too strong. I probably couldn’t have slept even if I wanted to. Still, the blood wards shimmered so prettily down at me, keeping me company through the long night as I rested my head against my dresser and stared out the window.

My appetite didn’t improve the next day.

And so the pattern continued. I’d stay up on lookout for Hencurse and I would avoid the prying looks and questions from my family while I gave up my lunch. Harry also stopped taking my lunch so I took to distributing it among the rest of the class. I just wasn’t hungry, besides I’m used to going without much food from when I had to share with my siblings in my previous life. I know how survive on minimal amounts of nutrition.

I probably would’ve eaten if I had known the consequences of my actions.

Day five of my self-conducted watch for Hencurse is on Friday. Mrs. Miller’s class along with Mrs. Tyler’s class are both gathered out on the field for PE. Both teachers are dressed for outdoor activities as they explain the rules of the game we’re going to be playing.

I’m not really paying much attention to either of them. Most of my attention is past the iron fence keeping us in as my eyes scour for any sign of a shadowy figure. The rest of my attention is on Anthy and Harry talking animatedly at the back of the crowd of children. I’ll have to remind them not to be so loud during instructional period next time, least they both be scolded  _ again  _ for disruption. At least both of them look happy.

I barely hear the the command to get to our respective sides of the field. I stand quickly and immediately regret my decision when black swarms my vision and I feel my body sway slightly.

“Woah, Dudley are you okay?” One of the boys in my class Justin calls out concerned.

I shake my head, trying to ward off the dizzy spell. I clears after a second and I blink disorientated, “Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look like he quite believes me but nods his consent and runs to join the rest of our class. I take a little longer to follow but eventually I’m surrounded by children. I’m not even sure what game we’re playing.

There’s a whistle and suddenly children are running all around me. I stare in confusion as a loud ringing pulses in my ears. My head is fuzzy. There’s a noise, perhaps a shout, and someone knocks painfully in behind me. I lurch forwards in surprise and the next time I open my eyes my face is in the grass.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I realize that this is the result of not eating enough and not getting enough sleep. My stomach churns uncomfortably as I struggle to my feet. Whoever ran into me has already run off to wherever.

Aimlessly I begin to run. I’m probably supposed to go towards that mass of children screaming and running around the center of the field. My legs word on autopilot as they carry me across the field. My breathing begins to constrict and very quickly I grow out of breath. The wozziness of my head grows worse and the ringing in my ears (in my head?) swells. I don’t realize that I should probably stop running.

Once again there’s a shout of worry but I can’t comprehend what it’s saying. All I know is that black dots are swarming my vision again and somehow I went from running to toppling over in slow motion, the grass steadily approaching my face.

My vision goes black before I hit the ground.

~*~

I open my eyes to white.

I flinch back as a groan wells up at the back of my throat. I squeeze my eyes close instinctively to protect my throbbing pupils and head from the intense lighting. I note that I had a really terrible migraine. What happened?

Actually, the better question is where am I?

I wait a moment before risking opening my tender eyes again. The light isn’t as harsh as before but I still have to squint to keep my retinas from flooding with too much illumination. I glance around in confusion taking in visual ques to find out where I am.

It looks like I’m in a hospital.

Why am I in a hospital?

“Hello?” I croak out, I wince at the tender state of my throat. It’s dry and scratchy and it feels like I haven’t drank water in days. And now that my dehydration has been brought to the forefronts of my attention I realize how thirsty I actually am. I need water.

I attempt to move but my entire body feels sore and uncooperative. There is a sharp prick of pain by the fleshy part of my forearm. My attention immediately goes to that point and I can see that I’m hooked up to an IV there. I make a note to remember not to tug at that area. Wouldn’t do to accidentally pull the needle out.

There’s a shuffle right outside the curtains keeping my privacy before someone pushes them out of the way. A kind looking nurse peers in at me, all pink cheeked and smiling. She steps in and closes the curtains again.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she chirps at me. She walks around the bed and quickly examines my vitals and gives my physical body a quick check over. She hums in approval while writing somethings on a clipboard I hadn’t noticed before.

“Alright,” she continues. “Everything is looking good. You’re probably thirsty right? Wait here, lemme get some water for you.” She sets the clipboard down and walks out of my bed space.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes because it’s not as if I can go anywhere anyways. I’m tempted to look at the clipboard she left behind but I’m having trouble working up the energy needed to sit up and lean over. It doesn’t matter much because the nurse returns not long after.

“Here you go,” she says handing me a cup of water. I weakly grab it in the hand not connected to the IV as she moves to adjust the bed and sit me up. She grabs the clipboard again, much to my disappointment, as I sip the water slowly.

“Okay Dudley,” she says with a smile while I drink. “My name is Nurse Adley, and I’ve been taking care of you. Tell me Dudley, can you remember what happened before you woke up?”

I pause in my drinking as my mind begins to work to remember. What did happen before this?

“I…” My voice feels a little better now that it’s properly moist. “I remember being at school on the field for PE class.”

“Good good,” Nurse Adley exclaims. “Go on.”

I purse my lip as my brain struggles to recall, “... I was running and…” Everything is coming up blank from this point on. “Did… Did I faint?” She nods.

“The doctor noted that you haven’t been eating,” Adley stated in a slightly scolding tone. “Your mum and dad also agreed that you haven’t been eating much. Because you haven’t been getting food in your belly you ended up fainting.” She gestured to my stomach with her pen, “Remember Dudley, we all need food to be able to do things. Not eating can be very dangerous.”

Her tone of voice annoys me a little, as if she’s talking to a child. I’m not a big fan of being treated like a kid when I’m not. I have to remind myself that this lady doesn’t know me and hasn’t learned how to treat me. And of course, there is also the fact that I  _ have  _ been acting like a child by making stupid decisions such as not eating.

“Also noted here is that you’re severely sleep-deprived,” the nurse continues. “Do you know what deprived means?”

I nod, annoyance spiking again.

“That’s good, just remember that we all need to get a lot of sleep to okay. Not eating and not sleeping is very bad for our health.”

I want to snap that I know all that but I keep quiet. I know all this but I had ignored my knowledge in favor of hazardously pursuing a paranoid path of response. For days on end I had continuously deprived my body of necessities. As loathsome as it is to admit that I was wrong, I had made some pretty bad decisions for the last week or so.

Wait… How long have I been in the hospital. It couldn’t have been that long but the level of dryness my throat had woken up to spoke of 24 hours at least. I decide to voice my concerns.

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask.

Nurse Adley’s response is not one that I wanted to hear.

“For about a week. Your parents have been out of their minds with worry you know.”

_ A WEEK?! _

My heart rate picks up quickly as my body immediately works itself up in response to the alarming information. A week is a long time. Anything can happen in a week. Oh my god, what if something had happened? I haven’t seen Hencurse in a while but you never know. If something had happenedtoharryohmygodwhatdoIdo-

I quickly cut my hysterical train of thought of as the more rational part of me speaks up. Yes something bad could’ve happened during the week that I was out but that doesn’t mean that something bad  _ did  _ happen. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions and get myself all worked up like that.

Slowly but surely I begin to calm down and my breathing evens out. But still, I cannot shake the feeling of foreboding that accompanied the nurse’s answer.

I go with the next most logical course of action after finding out how long I had been fainted for.

“May I speak with my parents?”

At this Nurse Adley bits her lip and something I can’t place flashes across her face. I’m immediately on guard and suspicious. She tries to smile at me but the damage is already done, everyone has their tells and her’s were screaming at me that something was wrong.

“A-ah,” she stutters slightly, eyes avoiding mine. “Your mum and dad are a little busy right now.”

“Busy doing what?” I press on. That was also suspicious. Petunia doesn’t work and she’s usually available. How does this nurse know that she isn’t?

My questioning seems to make Adley uncomfortable because she brusquely stands up and moves towards the curtain. She flashes me a nervous smile, “I’ll go get the doctor now and I’ll try and get ahold of your parents. I’m sure they’ll want to tell you what happened themselves-” She catches herself, “I mean, they’ll tell you why they’re busy.” She scurries away, tail between her legs.

Tell me what?  _ What happened? _

I get my answer much later that day when Petunia arrives at the hospital to check me out. The doctor gives me a look over and proclaims me healthy enough to return home, but with a prescription of supplements to help my body recover from it’s nearly two weeks of perpetual starvation. Petunia agrees to feed me bland foods and work me up to more solid meals before whisking me away to the car, face pinched in a way that tells me she’s worried.

When I ask her what’s wrong Petunia seems hesitant to answer. I notice the dark bags beneath her eyes, which could be due to my hospitalization but something tells me it’s more than that.

Her tired answer breaks my world for the second time that month.

“Diddykins, I’m sorry luv… Harry is missing.”

~*~

Unlike with the knowledge of Bryce, where I had been an empty husk made of guilt and a sense of uselessness, this time comes with a sense of urgency and all consuming panic. I had been practically choking on my overwhelming emotions as Petunia had drove us home. Apparently, the reason why she and Vernon had been so busy was because they’ve been dealing with the cops for the past two days since Harry had been taken right out of the school campus.

As soon as we got home I rushed upstairs and barricaded myself in my room. Petunia had shouted after me with concern thick in her voice but gave up when it became clear that I wasn’t going to answer. She allowed me my space for now.

Which was perfect because of what I had to do next.

Upon locking myself up in my room I quickly pull out my stash of wizarding books, then frantically sorting through them for anything relevant.

Hencurse, that monster has my poor baby. He has Harry. All my fears over the last eight months are coming true. Oh god, he  _ has Harry.  _ And lord knows that he’s doing to him. What he  _ has  _ done to him in the past two days.

I find what I’m looking for in the first year charm book.

I don’t have a wand to properly perform the spell  _ Point Me _ , but I hope that all my years of practice at wandless magic will aid me in this endeavor. I have to get creative though as I pick my way around my room in search of a possible substitute.

As I brush past my bed I suddenly remember those broken pencils hidden beneath the mattress. Broken pencils that Harry and I have both work our magic upon. I have no idea if that’ll help in anyway but I have hope.

I hastily pull out one of the broken utensils. I grip the two halves in my hand and squeeze and wish hard. It takes a lot longer than if Harry and I were working together, or even if Harry had been working alone, but eventually I feel the wood grow warm between my hands as the two pieces fuse back together. Ten minutes have passed since I started on fixing the pencil (feeling quite drained both physically and mentally), ten minutes I didn’t know if I could spare.

So I hasten my actions as I adjust my grip on the utensil to hold it out in my upwards facing palms. I focus on the pencil intently, perspiration dotting my forehead as I began channeling magic from my core.

“Point Me: Harry Potter,” I enchant.

The piece of wood sits in my palm unmoving and still, mocking me with it’s lack of motion.

I growl, “Point Me: Harry Potter!”

It still doesn’t move.

I cry out in frustration, as my feelings of inability and helplessness begins to choke me. So with all the fervent emotion of hate, fury, and desperation I can muster I shout.

“ _ POINT ME HARRY!” _

A hot energy surges inside of me, rolling up and over and giving me a vague sensation of queeziness. Except I don’t want to throw up, instead I feel power and strength rolling into each and every single one of my cells, lighting them up and energizing them. I can feel the thrum of magic pulsating through my veins, leaving me breathless.

I haven’t felt like this since that very first day I experienced magic.

Though this isn’t as much of an explosion as it is a roar of pure power shifting and awakening inside of me. My magical core (and oh how I can feel it so clearly now) flexes with vigor and might as if it were just another muscle in my body. I wonder how I’ve ignored it’s presence up till now.

And the most miraculous part, is the slowly spinning pencil dancing in the air above my hand. It spins lazily before suddenly stopping in a single direction. My eyes widen.

Then I’m off to action. I quickly collect the darkest cloths in my closet, those easiest to move and and least likely to get caught on anything, donning those then grabbing my bag. I carefully open the door to my room and peek out to make sure that no one will notice me.

Petunia is in her shared room with Vernon doing something so I take the chance to sneak downstairs silently. I rush to gather up anything I’ll need such as a flashlight, a lighter, and after brief consideration I slip one of Petunia’s sharpest kitchen knives into my bag. Then without hesitation I sneak out of the house and into the cool twilight air.

One things I notice immediately is that I can’t spot any of Mrs. Figg’s kneazles that usually littered her lawn and fence. That strikes something in me but I don’t have time to ponder their missing presence as I begin to follow the path my magically channeled pencil is pointing me in.

It takes me on a rushed walk across the town for nearly forty minutes. I’m breathless as the walk goes on but not as out of breath as I usually would be. I attribute it to the magic thrumming through my body, which is also making my mind sharper and my reaction time faster. I’m not sure how long this state will last but I hope it’ll last until I have saved Harry.

After climbing and jumping countless fences and yards in my attempt to keep a straight line, eventually I come to an area of Little Whinging that I’ve never been to before. The houses here are sparse and separated out, the perfect place to scream and not be heard. By now, the last rays of the sun lighting the sky red has faded as twilight turns to dusk. Darkness stretches across the town and foreboding fills the air.

I reach a broken down and abandoned house. I don’t bother to check if the Point Me charm goes past the house when I realize the faint notice-me-not spell covering the building. I fight the urge to look away as I carefully approach. I cancel the spell by retracting my magic and stuffing the pencil into my pack as I sneak around the side of the house.

I want to just hurry and and get Harry out already but it’ll just make the situation worse if Hencurse was to realize I’m here. I don’t know how he’ll react in such a situation, but it’s a given that it won’t be good. Luckily, he either doesn’t know how to set up wards or didn’t bother to because I walk onto the property without seeing any sign of protection other than the notice-me-not charm.

There is a moment of panic when I stepped closer to the house the the facade of an abandoned building fades away to show a clearly inhabited home. I had froze in my movement and stopped breathing for a good minute. When Hencurse did not appear I figured it was fine.

So I sneak around the house assessing the situation and trying to find both the best way to get in and the best way to get out. Of course, I also have to find out where in the house Hencurse is keeping Harry. I’m tempted to perform another Point Me charm but I’m not sure if the presence of foreign magic will alert him to me. I decide that it’ll be better to play it safe and do this the traditional way.

No one seems to be in the silent house. I haven’t heard a single noise since I’ve arrived but that could just mean a muffling spell. I hate not knowing more about magic. But everything is silent though.

Which is why I nearly screamed when someone spoke behind me.

“Dudley, is that you?”

I whirl around in shock, ready to lash out at Hencurse. I freeze in shock at what meets my eyes instead.

“It  _ is  _ you,” the faded grey form of one Bryce Simmons sighs in relief. The meek looking boy is floating three inches above the ground with his arms wrapped around himself in fear. I stare in horror at the gaping hole in his head where his left eye should’ve been. His right leg is bent in an awkward position and his grey cloths are covered in some dark liquid.

“H-how…” I whisper in horror. “You’re a ghost.”

Bryce’s face crumples into sadness and he nods solemnly, “Yeah... After,” he shudders, “ _ He  _ tortured and killed me, I suddenly woke up like this.” He looks down at his transparent hands with grief. “I was so sad and so  _ cold  _ and I could see my body on the ground. Aren’t I supposed to go to heaven? Have I been a bad boy? I didn’t understand…” He looks so scared and small and every bit the terrified child he is. I feel the need to hold him and comfort the poor dead boy.

“When Jason came back I hid,” he says in a shaky voice. He looks up at me with his single fear-filled eye, “You’re here for Harry right? You’re here to save Harry right?”

I nod as hope fills me, “You know where Harry is?”

Bryce nods, “I don’t know why I didn’t go to heaven but I want to help Harry,” he says with conviction. “Jason isn’t here right now, but he’ll be back soon. But you have to be careful,” the ghost boy warns, “because he has  _ magic  _ and can teleport.”

“Yeah,” I reply, “I know. Hencurse is a wizard.”

Bryce’s face does a funny thing, “A wizard? How do you know?”

“I’ll explain later,” I say. “Let’s just get Harry first and get you both out of here.”

“Oh… But I can’t leave…”

I blink in alarm, “You can’t leave?” Bryce shakes his head despondently.

“I’ve tried but I can’t leave, if I go too far I’ll just appear here again.”

My wrack my brain for a solution. I want to save Harry, but I don’t want to leave Bryce here either. Especially since it’s my fault he died in the first place.

“Alright,” I started. “We’ll save Harry then afterwards I’ll go to the wizarding police men and tell them about Hencurse. They’ll come and arrest him and I’m sure they’ll be able to help you.”

Bryce is surprised at the knowledge of wizarding police but agree to the plan. He directs me to an unlocked window that I use to slip in while he phases through the walls. I look to him for further instructions and he points to a discreet door in the kitchen. I silently follow behind the floating boy to the door. There’s a large lock on it.

I look up at Bryce, “Do you know where the key is?”

He shakes his head, “I think Jason may have it.”

I curse under my breath as I try to figure out what to do next. I end up pulling the pencil from my bag, noting the cracks in it from channeling magic, and holding it up to the lock. Despite my apprehension at using magic here I can’t see any other way I can get past this obstacle. I reach far into my memory for the famous spell used in the original series.

“ _ Alohomora,”  _ I whisper, focusing on the image of an unlocked pad in my head. It takes several moments of hard focus, sweating and channeling magic from deep in my core, while the spell worked to move them tumblers inside the lock before there is a click then the padlock falls open.

The pencil snaps in my hand, worn from the constant channeling of magic, and I stash the pieces away. I pull the lock from it’s slot on the door and, likewise, stash it away in my pack. I swing the door open, briefly observing the stairs descending into darkness, and begin my descent.

Why does it always have to be cellers?

I grab my flashlight as I walk down the stairs, surprised at how deep they actually go. As Bryce and I descend lower into the house the air grows thicker and more musty. The distinct sharp scent of iron also grows stronger and I feel the urge to throw up. Blood. And a lot of it.

The moment my foot hits the bottom floor of the cellar I spot him.

Harry is curled up on a dirty old bed (there are dark brown stains that I don’t even want to think about), a single chain wrapped around his ankle keeping him confined to a reduced radius of space. His clothes are dirty and ripped in some places and I feel hot blinding anger flash through me at the sight of bruises in the shape of hands on his wrists. But the need to free my baby cousin overrides any feeling of anger or sickness at the sight of his abuse. I rush over to him.

Harry is sleeping then I get over. I take a moment to catalogue any overt injuries then I examine the cuff around his ankle. There’s a tiny key slot and my makeshift wand is broken.

I begin to shine my light around the room in search for anything to help me free my cousin. What I see shakes me.

Splattered across the walls of the cellar are countless pictures of Harry. Some are new and likely taken by Hencurse personally, some I note are from school, some are just news paper articles with Harry’s name on them, and some pictures are ones I recognize from wizarding books. I also realize with sickness that some of the pictures are of Harry and I walking around in  _ Diagon Alley.  _ Oh god, we must’ve made a mistake at some point. We blew our cover and some sick fuck obsessed with Harry decided to come after my baby.

I push down the bile threatening to come up my throat as I continue to look around for anything to help me.

That’s when I hear the loud crack.

Bryce and I share a look of alarm and he mouths for me to hide before he slips into the wall out of sight. Shivers of panic run through my body as I rush towards the first thing I see, which is a large standing wardrobe standing in the corner. I quickly slip in and click off my torch (with only a moment of light to realize that the closet is  _ filled  _ with clothes of children, likely from all the boys Hencurse has victimized, making me want to vomit again) when Hencurse himself steps down into the cellar. I watch through the tiny crack between the doors as Hencurse waves his wand with a “ _ vo lumos _ ”, summoning a floating ball of light. He approaches Harry’s unconscious and prone form.

“Harry,” Hencurse coos at the sleeping boy. “Wake up Harry.” He runs his hands across my cousin and I see red. “Wake up sweetheart.”

Harry stirs and blinks the sleep away. He warily looks at his captor but smartly doesn’t speak up. He passively allows the monster to manhandle him into a sitting position.

“There we go luv,” Hencurse chortles affectionately. “Are you hungry yet my sweet? I know I’ve been gone for a while and I’m sure you missed me, but now we can have a lovely dinner together. What do you say hm?”

Harry flinches back when the wizard attempts to caress his cheek. This apparently wasn’t the correct reaction because within a second Hencurse’s loving face twists into an ugly sneer and in a swift movement he slaps the seven-year-old across the face. Harry’s green eyes widen in shock as a dark red mark in the shape of a hand begins to take form on his cheek.

“You will answer me when I’m talking to you Harry,” Hencurse growls dangerously. “After all I’ve done for you. Coming home early after working hard at the ministry all for  _ US. _ And this is how you treat me?” He looms over the cowering boy, “Well Harry? APOLOGIZE!”

“I’m sorry!” Harry cries out in terror.

Immediately Hencurse’s face returns back to it’s loving gaze. “There there sweetheart, was that so hard? All I ask is that you listen to me luv. Aw,” he gently brushes the hot red mark on Harry’s cheek. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry luv. I promise I won’t do it again. Don’t be scare Harry, you know I do this for you right?”

Harry meekly nods his head which seems to pacify the monstrous man.

I watch the entire exchange with horror and fury on equal degree.

“How about this then? I’ll make it up to you before dinner alright?” Hencurse soothes to the boy. “We’ll do something fun. Something that feels good alright?” Dread fills me.

Harry watches the man with trepidation as the wizard tucks his wand into his robes and leans in closer to Harry. Hencurse smiles at the boy as if amused by his lack of certainty. He leans forwards and places a affectionate kiss on Harry’s forehead as his hands begins wandering the boy’s torso.

Something in me snaps when I view those bloodied hands reach underneath Harry’s dirty shirt.

Once again, my body moves before my mind. I burst out of the wardrobe and charged blindly at the monster. The loud bang that my emergence made startled the wizard out of his ministrations. His head snaps in my direction with shock and within seconds he pulls out his wand and opens his mouth to shoot a curse at me.

“Dudley!” Harry cries out in shock.

But before he can I latch onto his wand arm and dig my teeth viciously into his wrist. Hencurse lets out a pained shout as his hand instinctively drops his wand. I can taste vile iron fill my mouth. The light spell flicks off in an instant the moment the wand leaves his person, plunging us all into darkness.

I’m blindsided by a fist that slams me harshly in the stomach. I shriek out in sharp pain and release the monster from my grip. When I land on the ground, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness I see that Hencurse’s eyes go straight to his fallen wand. Desperation fuels me and I pull myself to my feet in a frenzy and kick the wand across the room under the wardrobe where it would be difficult to get. Hencurse lets out a furious roar and changes his sights from the want to me. Because, wand or not, he’s still has the advantage of being a full grown man against a recently hospitalized toddler.

Before I can do anything I’m knocked to the ground, air being knocked from my lungs leaving me breathless. Then the monster is on me. His long fingers wrap around my neck and begin to squeeze. I wheeze out in pain as my windpipe crushes in. The pain from the suffocation along with the lack of air is making my head spin. My mouth gasps uselessly as I try to suck in air.

“It’s you!” Hencurse sneers down at me. My legs kick uselessly in the air as he continues to choke me out, “I was wondering why my lock was missing, I thought I had just forgotten to put it on. You’re that bloody little brat that tried to stop me before. Ha, well I guess I should thank you though. Without you I never would’ve found my darling Harry. Oh? You don’t remember? You don’t remember that day at the Candy shop? When you shouted out sweet Harry’s name and clueing me in? No? You don’t remember the kind man who handed you your bag?”

The lack of air is making it hard to think but his words do ring something familiar in me. I do remember some wizard handing me my dropped bag at the time.

Hencurse laughs sadistically and spits in my purpling face as I gargled for air.

Then there is a loud  _ WHUMP  _ and suddenly the hands around my neck are gone. I inhale sharply, wincing at as the air travels down my damaged throat. I cough and breath in desperation, my lungs greedily sucking in sweet sweet oxygen.

Standing above Hencurse is Harry looking frightened but angry. He’s holding the bedside table in his hands that he had used to smack the monster off of me. His eyes peer at me in worry, “Dud! Are you okay!”

I’d like to answer but my throat is having trouble forming words. I’m winded and in pain and I can’t do much more than lean over and heave and try to breath through my damaged throat. I notice a movement in the corner of my eyes through the pain and I open my mouth to warn Harry but it’s too late.

“You SLUT!” Hencurse yowls as he tackles Harry to the ground, “after ALL I DID FOR YOU!” His hand is pulled into a hard fist which he brings down to Harry’s head in a loud smack. Harry lets out a pathetic wail as he attempts to curl in on himself. Hencurse readies another fist.

My mind whirls with a million thoughts on what to do. One idea catches and immediately I reach into my pack and let my fingers curl around a smooth handle.

Hencurse doesn’t have time to punch Harry again before I slide a blade easily into his back. He pauses in mid action and chokes out blood when I pull the blade back. In a swift movement I kick him with all my might and the large man topples off of Harry and onto the ground in shock. I immediately straddle his midsection and bring the knife back down on his chest. The blade easily enters and the monster jerks in pain, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

I can’t say how many times I stabbed Hencurse that night. All I know is that by time Harry’s gentle hands fell on my shoulders to stop me the monster had long been dead. I had dropped the knife in shock, not quite believing that I had just killed someone. That I took a life as easily as I could cut a slice of cheese. So I let happen what I had been itching to do all night. I had scrambled off of the cooling corpse, leaned over, and promptly ejected the entire contents of my stomach. Tears mixing with foul bile as it dripped down my chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hopefully that wasn't too crazy or confusing or rushed. I actually wrote most of this in one sitting by spending the last... Idk five hours just sitting here and writing because sudden inspiration? At least the MONSTER Arc is over with (well... mostly. I still have to do some epilogue stuff for this arc at the beginning of the next chapter). And this is the longest chapter up to date so yay!!  
> And hey, if you see a mistake (or several) please PLEASE point them out to me because I don't proof read haha. If I proof read I promise that I'll never get anything posted because I'll never be happy with the end result. So um... Yeah.  
> Anyways, kudos and comments are my fuel. I always look forwards to reading comments. Even if it's just one word. It lets me know that you are here and reading and you like what you're reading! Constructive criticism is always welcome. :)  
> (Also I'm taking some liberties with the spell work because, hey!, it's fanfiction and I can do whatever I want. I will try to stick to canon and make reasonable expansions to the world and theory behind it)


	5. Over?

Warm hands sooth my back as my empty stomach turns my vomiting into painful dry heaves. I’m trying to blink back tears as the acidic smells of my stomach contents burn my eyes and nose. I take a deep breath, inadvertently inhaling that foul stench which prompts my body to begin painful coughs which certainly does nothing to help my torn up throat. It takes several minutes of heaving, breathing, and coughing on a painful loop for the process to die down.

By time I have gathered some semblance of calm the tears have dried on my face, sticky and uncomfortable, and my body has finally given up on it’s attempts to eject my entire insides onto the floor. Slowly I lean back plopping my butt on the dingy ground and shifting away from the mess I had just made.

“Dud…? Are you okay?”

 _No. I’m not okay._ My brain automatically tones, but I realize that the person soothing my back and now speaking to me is actually Harry. I lethargically lift my head up to meet his troubled eyes. The hand on my back pauses in it’s comforting ministrations.

“I-” I wince as my voice comes out crackled and distorted. A shot of pain shoots my my damaged vocal muscles from the attempt. I shake my head to ward off the pain and motion to Harry that I can’t speak. He bites his lower lip in response.

Something bright catches my eye that reflects what little light the staircase offers. I see that it’s the chain wrapped around Harry’s ankle. Harry follows my gaze and sees what I’m seeing, “I don’t know where he keeps it.” His voice is small and tired.

“In his robes,” comes a voice to our right.

Harry looks up in alarm and spins around. I remember that he probably doesn’t know my little helper. Bryce automatically flinches back from the sudden movement, his ghostly form blinking from existance for a fraction of a second before reappearing two feet away. He’s just a little boy after all, spirit or not, and after what he’s gone through of course he would be scared. I quickly grab Harry’s hand in mine bringing his attention back on me. I shake my head trying to convey that Bryce is a friend. My cousin seems to get it because he relaxes his tense and defensive posture.

I meet Bryce’s fearful gaze and I motion for him to come closer. He seems hesitant but ultimately follows my silent suggestion and floats closer to us. Harry isn’t completely at ease with the ghost boy and he shifts away from Bryce when he approaches.

Meanwhile, I’m working up the courage to look back at the mess behind me. I remind myself that I have to free Harry and this is something that needs to be done. Slowly I shift and turn my body to face the corpse. I avoid looking at those glossy dead eyes staring aimlessly upwards. I thank any and every deity I can think of that this monster didn’t return as a spirit. I’m not sure what kind of chaos ghosts can cause but I’m positive that it would be a malevolent being.

Harry makes a noise of concern as I pull myself closer to the body, flinching away from the glaring blade next to it.. I grimace and carefully reach up to pull it’s robes apart. I gag when a wave of iron hits my nose and I have to pause in my actions to collect myself before continuing. It’s disgusting as I reach my hand in, searching, for the key. It’s a feeling akin to knowing you have a duty to pull out a clump of hair from the shower drain. The ickiness that crawls up my skin is more than unpleasant. The comparison does little to make me feel better but does serve to distract me from my current undertaking (which is far worse than the scenario I imagined).

Eventually my fingers does hit something small, hard, and cool. I wrap my hands around the key and quickly remove myself from the corpse’s vicinity. It’s presence near me still sends shivers up my spine, but anything is better than closer to it than necessary. I move over to Harry who holds his leg out to me. I carefully insert the key and turn. With a soft click he’s free.

I decide that it’s about time that we leave this horrendous place. The smell of blood is stronger than ever, and coupled with the stench of vomit and death it’s already enough to make my head woozy (which may also be due to my recent oxygen deprivation). I let Harry gather himself while I move over to where the wardrobe is, crawling to my knees and pressing my face to the floor.

It doesn’t take long to spot it. There at the very back, against the wall, is the monster’s wand. Without hesitation I swipe the weapon and gingerly stow it away in my bag. I had suspected touching the wand of the monster would make me uncomfortable but I did not expect the wave of nausea and disgust the moment my fingers brushed up against it. I’ll probably have to properly disinfect the thing several times before I even think about using it.

When I get up, both Harry and Bryce are sharing soft words that I can’t hear. They both must sense my movement because they stop and turn to look at me as I stand. I weakly motion towards the exit as I stagger over to them. Harry eyes my neck injury with tensely but I ignore his imploring looks in favor of working my way up the stairs.

I just want to leave this night behind me.

The walk up the stairs is harder than before. The weight of my worry has been lifted from the first time I traversed these steps, but only to be replaced by a new weight. Never in all my lives would I thought that my hands would ever be so sullied. That I could so easily take a man’s life-

I freeze that train of thought before it can proceed further. What’s happened has happened, and I have more important things to dwell on than the damning events of the past twenty-four hours. Let these memories plague me in my nightmares, right now I have a duty to get Harry to safety.

So I continue to stagger up the staircase, one hand on the wall to keep me balanced. Slowly but surely, the light around us grows brighter as the stench of blood and death recedes. I can’t wait to drink in fresh air again. We take the final steps up to the ground floor and I nearly want to collapse in relief now that the darkness of the cellar, that I hadn’t noticed was so suffocating, is gone. I don’t, of course, but I take a moment, a pause, to collect myself before continuing.

A quick check over my shoulders shows me that Harry is also very much enjoying the alleviation from his dark prison. He stands there, just at the top of the steps for a long time, too long, and I deliberate telling him to hurry up. Then I remind myself that he’s been here much longer than I have and that he’s should be afforded any comfort, no matter how meagre, that we can spare. There’s no rush after all and the immediate threat has passed.

Harry finally opens his eyes after many minutes of silence, looks at me, and seems to realize that I’ve been waiting for him. A sheepish blush blooms on his face and he rushes to catch up to me. And despite my somberness, I offer him a small smile which he returns in kind. I may not feel up to it but Harry is still just a little boy and right now what he needs is emotional comfort. As the grown up here, I have to be the one to give that to him, my own mental health be damned. I’m old enough to regulate my thoughts and compartmentalize. Harry isn’t.

With that in mind, I reach out and gently grab his hand. I keep an eye out for any sudden movement. Any sign that he’ll be uncomfortable with touch after his traumatic experience. There is none, luckily, and I hold his hand in a firm grip as I lead my baby cousin towards the door. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Bryce following morosely behind us.

I open the front door (unlocked, I note, typical arrogant wizard) and we all step out into the cool night air. I shiver when a breeze hits my face, and for a moment it feels like it’s washing away all the dirt and grime from my soul. The moment is over too soon though and I repress the urge to sigh wistfully. I begin walking away from the house, making sure the boys are following close behind me.

When we reach the yard limit Bryce flies ahead of me and pauses. He stares at the ground with trepidation and doubt. Without looking at either of us he says, “This is the limit. I don’t know if I can pass…”

I don’t answer him, that that I can even if I wanted to anyways. But Bryce seems to get the message from my look because he hesitantly reaches a faded arm past the property limit. There’s a brief second of tension as uncertainty spikes in the atmosphere, but that too passess when nothing happens and Bryce’s arm is held innocently over the line. I can’t read the expression on the ghost’s face but it wells up a deep sadness in me.

Alright, I think with a confident nod and I take a step off the property and unto the sidewalk. The boys follow.

Another problem presents itself now. How do we get home? And what will we tell Petunia and Vernon?

I ignore the second question for the moment as I focus on the first. Neither Harry nor I are in any position to be producing magic. I myself am drained, whatever powerful magic that had possessed and energized me earlier in the day had passed some time ago, leaving me weak and tired. Both of us are exhausted and beat up. Not enough magic to lead us home and not enough magic to heal our wounds. Chances are we’ll have to seek out medical attention the moment we get back anyways, least either of us suffer permanent damages. Small bruises are viable, sure, on our good days. But both of us have depleted our cores (well… mostly in my case) and our injuries are much more serious than our usual superficial ones.

The memory of the lighter I had stored in my pack sparks an interesting idea. Yes, that could work. I quickly pull the object in question from my bag and motion for the boys to stay put when they shoot me looks of inquiry. I make my way back to the house, noting that the notice-me-not-charm is wearing off.

This will also kill two birds with one stone. Best destroy any evidence after all. Since the aurors didn’t get involved in the end, there’s no need to get them involved now. No doubt the police who search this house will find some sort of damning wizarding evidence. And with everything that’s going on I wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore to be able to fit everything together and connect the now missing wizard to Harry’s disappearance (which Mrs. Frigg will no doubt tell him about, if she hasn’t already. Which also begs the question, where has Dumbledore been in all this?)

I eye the houses down the street hoping that at least one of them will call the cops once everything is done. Once again I mourn the lack of cell phones in this world, I vow that once they come out I’ll buy a pair for Harry and I. With that I step back into the damned home.

A quick search through the cupboard in the kitchen reveals what I’m looking for. I grab the bottle of oil and proceed to the obviously unused stove. All four burners of the gas stove are turned on, the heat from the flames lick at my face pleasantly in the cold night. Then the cap comes off of the oil bottle in my hands and it’s contents are spilled in a trail from the furniture of the living room to the stove in the kitchen. I cover as much of the house as possible with amount of fuel available to me, and once the bottle has been drained to its last drop I discard it back into the cupboard I found it in and fish out my lighter.

I’m at the entrance of the house when I light the device in my pudgy fingers. Cautiously, I let it drop from my grip towards the trail of cooking oil on the ground and immediately move away from the building and towards the two boys waiting for me with puzzled looks at the property’s edge. Behind me I can hear and feel the flames begin to build up as it swallows everything in it’s path. I pick up my pace as the heat becomes unbearable, the hair on the back of my calves start to singe off from the proximity, and my legs are struggling to keep up with the strenuous pace.

“You set it on fire…” Bryce says with wonderment when I collapse next to Harry. Something is reflected in his dead eyes that I can’t place. Perhaps it’s closure, though I have no definite way of knowing. He licks his lips, a useless action as he’s nothing more than an apparition now but old habits die hard, “It’s pretty.”

I want to laugh at the comment but exhaustion weighs down at my body now that all there is to do is wait. Harry shifts closer and pulls my body against him. It’s comforting and I lean in closer, a arm wrapping loosely around his waist comforted by the thought of his safety. Behind us wood crackles and groans as the fire eats away at it’s death stained walls. All three of us are silent as the night wears on.

Harry is the first to notice them. He nudges my ribs and tilts his head towards the gradually growing gathering of people looking on in horror at the burning building. Someone must’ve spotted us because a worried but kind looking couple cautiously approaches. They look like they’re about to question us when they then notice the terrible looking injuries decorating our skin. The woman hides gasps and quickly sends her husband (if those wedding rings are any indication) to the house to fetch towels while she herds us away from the burning building.

Bryce looks hurt that she can’t seem to see him but follows after us anyways at a more sedated pace as the women brings us towards her house. On the way there she eyes the angry red finger prints around my throat wearily, a look which I pointedly ignore. Any questions that may be in her eyes go unanswered as both Harry and I follow her silently across the street.

As we approach the large crowd I feel Harry’s hand reach over and grab mine. A quick glance reveals a frightened look on his face as the horde threatens to swallow us. The kind woman doesn’t seem to notice his fear, so I give the bottom hem of her dress a meaningful tug, dragging her attention to me while I give her a hinting head jerk towards my baby cousin. Understanding dawns on her face and she quickly reroutes our path away from the masses while gently warding off any nosey people with smiles and pacifying words. I mentally sigh in relief, gracious to this nameless woman for her thoughtfulness. She sets us down on the steps to her home, aware enough not to force us into the confined space of her house. The tension in Harry’s body bleeds out.

In the distance the raging fire continues to crackle.

It isn’t until much later that the first responders arrive. The sight of a red fire engine catches me off guard at first, so used to the yellow of American fire trucks. By which time though the house is mostly in cinders, with only the bare foundations keeping the structure up. The walls are pretty much burned away. I watch in disinterest as the firemen begin to douse out what’s left of the flames, more interested in wrapping the blanket the woman’s husband had brought out for us tighter around my shivering form. At the very least the cold is an adequate distraction from the burning of my throat.

Sirens begin wailing in the distance, gradually growing louder and a couple of police vehicles pull up to the scene, an ambulance not far behind it. The couple hosting Harry and I are quick to hail down the paramedics and a officer. And with a sad smile they hand us off to the medical technicians. I subtle wave to Bryce to follow us which he does with a relieved face. He gently floats around the EMT checking Harry over, causing the man to break out in an abrupt bout of shivers though he continues his duty diligently. My own EMT is gently tilting my chin up and cataloging the injuries on my neck, his face is calm and pacifying but I can see anger in his eyes.

No one asks us questions and soon Harry and I are being lifted off to the hospital. Through the tiny window of the ambulance I can see dark plums of smoke rising up to the night sky. It’s black and gray and lacks the red glow from the fire signifying its rest.

It also signifies the end of this harrowing day.

~*~

I must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing I know there’s a soft but repetitive beeping in my ear and opening my eyes reveals seafoam curtains and a faded white ceiling. _The hospital_ , my mind provides.

I lay there for several minutes, just staring at the air mindlessly while listening to the beat of my heart through the mechanical pitched tones of my vitals monitor. When I finally decide to move I discover that it’s a pretty bad idea and my body screams out it’s protest in the form of sore and stiff muscles. Whether it’s due to the strenuous activities of the night (before?), the recent malnutrition, or my overuse of magic, it’s clear that moving will not be on my list for a few days at the very least. So I sigh and resign myself to what will no doubt be a long period of confinement to this bed.

It’s not like I’m unused to it. Hospital visits were a commonality in my past life. I must’ve spent most of it in the walls of places just like this one. Not exactly a comforting thought but true nonetheless. Perhaps I’m fated to stay in these dreary buildings forever. Perhaps my family curse never left me.

The thought leaves a vile taste on my tongue and I push that train away in favor of more pressing matters.

Like where is Harry?

No one comes to my silent aid however. My throat (now wrapped in a layer of bandaging) is still sore and torn and speaking is doubtlessly unadvisable. It makes me feel kind of useless. Just laying here, silent and unmoving. I might as well be a puppet for all I’m capable of.

A glorified puppet with strings of tubes.

Once again my mind wanders to a negative place and feelings of loathing build up. The remainder of my uselessness is not a kind one but I’m strangely thankful for it’s presence. It reminds me of how fully unprepared I was for this whole scenario.

All this time, I had been so focused on the canon-timeline. So focused on being ready for Voldemort and his league of Death Eaters that I’d forgotten the terrifying dangers of the real world. Somewhere along the line I got it into my head that Harry and I were immune until the real story began because of some dumb reason like _plot._ Well plot was thrown out the window a long time ago. Starting with the moment I woke up in this body.

These past few days have been that wakeup call. Harry and I surviving was not out of some cosmic will or some destined fate. Both of us could’ve easily have died. I probably _should’ve_ died. Luck had played a better part of our continued survival and I’m not blind to those fact. The throbbing pain in my throat is a testament to that.

And it really stings. The idea that it was my fault, my _existence,_ that could’ve gotten Harry killed. Sweet, innocent, and thoughtful Harry who is probably significantly changed and scarred by this event. The thought eats at me.

However, with the revelation comes the resolve.

Through the pain and soreness of my body I can feel a new determination flow through me. We were unprepared this time, yes. But next time?

I’ll make sure Harry and I are equipped with every advantage.

But where to begin?

A good place to start will probably be with things that can be done in the now. Immediate actions that will have immediate and long term results. There’s a lot of things that can’t happen yet simply because of the complications that may result from taking those actions. As much as it guilts me to think of it, saving Sirius Black from azkaban is one of those things that cannot happen yet. His release will call for close relations and exposure to not just the wizarding world, but prominent members in it. My expertise in the Harry Potter Universe is limited to what I’ve gathered from the movies, the books, and a vast amount of conjecture from the fandom itself. Sadly, none of those offers much insight into the hidden agendas of major players and a misstep could likely result in speeding up those agendas. Not a complication I really want to deal with at the moment.

No. Preparation will have to be done with things Harry and I can do alone and in the moment. That only really leaves two things to work with, and those are simply diligent practice and gathering of information.

It’s something Harry and I have already been working on, things like wandless magic and studying books we’ve gathered. But it’s become apparent that these efforts just aren’t cutting it. Whatever disastrous consequences resulted of my presence in this universe seems to have upped the stakes. Whether the trend will continue or not is up for debate but this whole experience has shaken me and I’d rather Harry be equipped with as many advantages and not need them than to need them and be without. Had I been more prepared for this whole situation perhaps I would’ve gotten Harry out of there sooner, perhaps I wouldn’t be in this hospital now.

My inner musings continue as I begin to catalogue all the books on magic we own and planning out a new training regiment. That’s when a commotion outside of the room distracts my thoughts.

“Please sir, can this wait? The patient is not in any condition to answer questions.”

Footsteps fall into the room and silhouetted forms brush up against the seafoam curtains. A gruff voice dismisses the smaller figure, most likely a nurse, and I tense up when a large hand grips at the screen fabric and pulls it open. A large man in worn gray suit dips into my bed space without announcement. He spares me a quick glance before settling an angry looking nurse with challenging look. The much smaller woman rears up and steps between me and the man.

“Sir. I’ll not ask you again. Please remove yourself this instance or I will be forced to call-”

“Call what?” The man provokes in a surprisingly mellow voice. It’s not a combination I’d thought possible, both calm yet agitating. “The authorities? Missy, I _am_ the authority here. And I’ll be glad if you let me do my job. I promise not to rile up the lad too much. Just a few questions and I’ll be out of here.”

 _The only person that you need to not rile up is that nurse,_ my mind snarks.

I look down at my hands, both fisting the sheets. There isn’t much in terms of answers that I can offer this man -damaged throat aside- without giving away sensitive information. Knowledge I’m not willing to part with, especially to someone who could cause damage to my plans.

“Not on my watch you won’t,” the nurse bravely states. “This is _my_ patient and _I’ll_ be the one to give the O.K. for questioning. Now I’ll repeat myself, remove yourself from this room this instance you brute or I will be calling for the doctor.”

The man lets out a deeply annoyed sigh as if tired of everything. Gently, but firmly, he places a hand behind the nurse and pushes past her and closer into my space. Bile threatens to raise up in my throat when his overwhelming presence presses in too close to me. A flash of memory of large hands reaching and squeezing and lungs igniting burns away at all my thoughts. An uncontrollable compulsion has me suddenly leaning away from the man and over the edge of my bed as my chest constricts with effort to take in air that my mouth can’t seem to find.

“Jesus.” A sharp feminine breath in. “Move away from him! You’re causing him to panic!”

Then soft gentle hands are rubbing large circles into my back and the overbearing presence causing my distress dissipates. A voice, equally as soft, urges me to breath. In. Out. In. Out.

My body rebels against the instruction and there is panic gathering just underneath the surface, but it’s slowly retreating and I’m regaining some semblance of control again. Sweet air pushes past my throbbing throat, forcing my breathing to regulate itself even as my heart threatens to freak out again. The circulation of air starts to clear the fog from my mind and I’m aware of my surroundings again.

The soft hands slow their rubbing when I start to sit up, the panic gone. The movement, now that the adrenaline has dissipated, reminds me of just how sore my body is. With the nurse -the owner of the hands- supporting my weight we maneuver my body back onto the bed. I let out a shaky breath as my head sinks down into the pillows.

“Feeling better love?” The nurse smiles disarmingly at me. She brushes a hand across my forehead, checking temperature, then pats my head lightly. I nod in response to her question.

Now across the room, the man who had triggered the sudden and unexpected panic attack is watching the entire thing playout with a pinched expression. I pinpoint the emotion as guilt and feel a vindictive pleasure. Apparently I’m more angry than I thought at him barging into the room without announcement. Demanding answers and generally just causing trouble. Well too bad for him because I’m not planning on answering a single one of him damned questions.

“How about some water dear? You must be parched.”

The idea of water does sound appealing. Though how it’ll stack up against the damaged tissue of my throat is another story entirely. Still, I appreciate the offer and I express my agreement silently.

“Alright then.” She stands from my bed and turns her back to me. The nurse pauses to give the man a stern look and directs him out of the area around my bed, then she offers me a smile before enclosing me back within my privacy curtains alone. I watch as their two silhouettes leave the room without another word.

My body reminds me of how sore and tired it is as my eyes begin to droop. I would like to keep brainstorming but the idea of sleep sounds even more appealing than the sound of water. I don’t put up much of a fight as I let the sleep take me.

~*~

Harry is sitting on my bed when I wake up again.

This time, sunlight is streaming through the room and past my curtains.

I notice a paper cup of water, sitting untouched, on the table next to my bed.

Immediately I open my mouth to call to my cousin then wince when the pain bites at me mercilessly. My mouth snaps close with an audible clip which alerts Harry to my wake. He turns his body to face me and I have to fight the surge of anger and shock at the sight of his face.

Blue and dark purple bruises litter his cheeks, swelling painfully. There’s white gauze and bandages covering what I’m assuming to be the worst parts of his wounds but just the stark amount of discoloration showing from behind the white lets me know the true extent of his injuries. But other than that, Harry looks to be just fine, which is a god blessed relief.

It’s after I’ve finished taking in his injuries that I notice his expression. It’s taut with worry and apprehension. And that could be attributed to seeing my condition or the pain from his own but my intuition tells me that something else is causing his turmoil. That’s when I hear the unsubtle whispers from outside the room.

“... any idea what this means! That little _freak_ must’ve done something. Turner said it himself, those _things_ they found! This has those freaks written all over it and I bet he’s got something to do with it!”

“I have no idea what they actually found Vernon, but we shouldn’t just jump to conclusions! The boys have been through something terrible, it’s best if we just give them some space for now!”

“What will people _think._ We should’ve never taken in that little menace. Look at how he’s tearing apart our family!”

“Now see here Vernon-”

“Excuse me?” A new voice joins in and Petunia’s sharply inhales, probably in surprise. The voice sounds familiar and it’s prickling at some dark part of my mind, but sleep is still dragging me down and I can’t identify it. It’s low and gruff. “I understand that you wanted me to speak to your son’s-”

“Son.” Vernon’s voice interrupts. “I only have one boy. The other is my… nephew.” The way he says the word comes out distastefully.

“...Right.” The stranger intones. “Well, I know you both have some concerns and I promise you both that we’ll get to the bottom of this but right at this moment I’m not so sure if speaking to the lads will be the best idea. You see, I was here last night and-”

“You only need to speak to the little menace,” Vernon interrupts again. “I can assure you that he’s the source of all this chaos! Without a doubt! He’s always been a delinquent that one. Not a good bone in his body! And look at how he’s dragged my poor boy down!”

“Now Vernon-” Petunia begins in a pacifying voice.

Her husband cuts her off immediately, “Not now Petunia. Now I’m telling you Turner, that boy is trouble. It’ll do you good to just go take him off now. Good riddance to it all!”

“Vernon!”

“Not now Petunia!”

The stranger -Turner- clears his voice, “If I’m not being too abrupt Mr. Dursley, but young Harry has just been through quite the ordeal. I was not on the other investigation personally but if I do recall he had been missing for well over two days before the fire department was called.”

“Yes. W-well… Um...” Vernon grunts as he mumbles and searches for a response.

“And,” Turner adds voice tight and annoyed. “Might I continue to say that your… _eagerness_ to write off your nephew was it? Well, it does all seem very suspicious. Remember that we are still in the preliminaries of our investigation and that any and _all_ evidence we find will be used. Especially since the house, in which we suspect the boys were being held at, was tragically burnt down and left very little for our teams to work with.”

There is a moment of silence as the group takes in those words.

“Now see here you!” Vernon’s booming voice echoes through the building furious as he realizes implications of what Turner said. “I’m not sure what you are trying to insinuate but I will not stand here and take the-these… Accusations!”

“Then, Mr. Dursley, I suggest you sit down.”

What follows is nothing but the sound of Vernon’s indignant sputtering as he calls after Turner with increasingly angry bellows. All which go ignored as there is no response from the other man. A moment later there is a knock on the door to the room.

“I’m coming in,” comes Turner’s gruff voice. The sound of the door opening and clicking shut follows. Then the curtains are pulls aside and I’m facing the same man from the night before, in fact he’s still wearing the same drab gray suit. My body tenses up instinctively at the sight of him.

In the light of the day it’s easier to see what he looks like. With a head full of messy graying hair and a large trimmed stash above his bow, I could’ve sworn I was looking at the twin of James Gordon of the Dark Knight cinematic universe. I keep my face blank as I take in the fifty-something year-old man, face wrinkled and creased from years of stress and worry. He rubs a hand through his hair and lets out a deeply troubled sigh.

Harry shifts closer to me at the man’s appearance and I loosely hold him hand in mine.

“Hello, I’m detective Turner,” the man introduces. “Um… I’m here to apologize for last night, my behavior was… Unprofessional and appalling.” He pauses and seems to come to a realization if the way his eyebrows lift and the corners of his mouth crank down just a degree are of any indication. “What I mean is that I was wrong and I’m very sorry for what I did yesterday. I had not meant to scare you…”

Silence permeates through the room as the two of us just awkwardly watch each other. Honestly I’m rather surprised that this remorseful man before me is the same as the arrogant and demanding one from the night before. I chalk it up to the stressful case taking it’s toll, not that’s any excuse for the way he acted towards both that nurse and me, and I doubt that he’s really that bad of a person as his current actions state. Still the tension from the night before is apparent and my body has not forgiven the intense reaction from yesterday. Harry grips my hand harder as it begins to shake.

When it looks like he’s about to speak again I start before he can. “I-it’sss f-ne.” The words come out slurred and scratchy, but it definitely feels a lot better than my previous attempts. I swallow and continue, “Cn’t to-olk… Hard speeeaak…” Something tickles my throat and I begin to cough. God this hurts like a bitch.

Turner starts forwards but jolts to a stop, he takes a hurried step back and shoots me a concerned look. “You don’t need to talk lad. Save your voice, let it heal. I um…” He contemplates his next words, “Your father asked me to ask you both a few questions about… that night. But I can see now that that’s not a very good idea. I only came to apologize and to let you know that I’ll be coming around when you’re feeling better.” His gray eyes are hard with some obscure emotion, “The police are going to do everything they can to help you two alright? Just remember that we’re here to help.”

It sounds like he wants to say more but stops himself. I can understand why, I’m sure he doesn’t want to scare two traumatised kids more than necessary. I don’t tell him that I have no intention of letting him know anything, but his consideration for our wellbeing does touch my heart. I’m sure this whole event over the past half a year has been strenuous on the entire task force.

So I just nod and it seems to placate Turner. The detective makes a move to leave, offering the two of us one last wave before exiting the room. I’m left a little disorientated, wondering what just happened. To be honest though, these last few days have been very surreal.

“I haven’t said anything.”

I look over at Harry who spoke and tilt my head questioning. He offers me a small shrug and moves to lay down closer to me. I slowly scoot over, feeling sore muscles protest the movement, and allow my little cousin a spot next to me. He lays his head on the pillow and gazes into my eyes.

“I haven’t said anything to anyone…” He repeats. “Uncle Vernon was… really angry when he saw me. He was yelling at me and blaming me.” I feel a spike of anger. “I know he and Auntie know that something is wrong… And I know you told me not to tell anyone about magic, but Dudley what if this is dangerous?” His lower lip begins to wobble, “You got so hurt and so many bad things happened, and that man-!”

I blink in surprise as tears begin dribbling down his scrunched up face.

“Dudley…” His green eyes open and stare into mine imploring, “We’re just little kids Dud… What if they’re right? What if we need to tell someone?” There’s a brief moment of panic and I fear that he may actually tell someone without consulting me but I quickly banish the thought as another emotion starts to well up in me.

Guilt. Guilt because, as much as I fear the consequences of telling someone, Harry is _right._ This whole situation… The dead children, the kidnappings, _Bryce’s death_ could’ve all have been avoided if I had just swallowed my fears and consulted someone qualified to actually do _something_. I could say that the thought never occurred to me but I would be lying. Somewhere in me I had considered running to and telling the aurors but I had stopped myself, told myself that I could handle it, and now the consequences are irreversible.

And the worse thing is… I’m not sure that I’d do anything different if something like this happened again. I have no idea how meddling in the wizarding world could affect the future events of Harry’s life, and right now knowing the future is the only advantage I have.

Harry is mine to protect, mine to nurture, he’s _my child._ I’m the one that raised him and took care of him and offered him comforts in a household that wanted nothing to do with him. There’s a sense of responsibility and independence there and deep inside me my biggest fear is that I can’t trust anyone else but myself to have Harry’s best interests in mind. Things backfired this time because I wasn’t diligent enough, I wasn’t prepared enough but I will be next time.

How can I trust someone else to have the same interests for Harry’s well being as me? Dumbledore had an ulterior motive for everything he did with Harry in the original story, and the entire wizarding world either loves and places Harry on a pedestal or hates and makes him into their scapegoat. What happened with Hencurse was a mistake, a dire mistake that I won’t allow to happen again, because next time I’ll be prepared, I’ll be well equipped.

But do I have it in my heart to sacrifice Harry as a tool to others in exchange for his protection?

A stronger person would probably answer yes. But I’m not strong. I’m selfish and love too hard. I’ve lost too much in my last life that I’ve come to hold everything I own close to my heart and possessively. I’m positive I can protect Harry on my own, this fluke aside, and I’m not ready to let go of him.

I reach out a hand and gently wipe a trailing tear from his tender cheek. The rest of the tears having been soaked up by his bandages already. Harry opens his eyes and looks at me with a vulnerability and I feel a protective urge rear up in me, vicious and angry, but I don’t show my internal state and just smile at him. It placates the shaken boy and Harry smiles a wet smile back at me.

No, I can’t trust anyone else to protect him. I’ll just have to get stronger on my own.

~*~

Bryce shows up much later in the day and excitedly tells me about his new friends. I’m amused by the young mind’s ability to bounce back from the most traumatizing situations. Apparently, the hospital is home to a few dozen ghosts that have formed something of a community here. One that welcomingly opened it’s arms for the recently deceased child. It’s a bit of a relief since I have no idea what I would’ve done with the boy otherwise. I have no idea the forces behind their continued existence after death, death itself is still a mystery to me even having died once. How come I was reincarnated while these people resided in a non physical form? They seem to be tied to this plane of existence since wizards can see them (and by extension I’m assuming most other magical beings) and they have some influence on the physical plane.

Aside from all that though, the discovery has put Bryce in high spirits (no pun intended), and he hasn’t expressed much in terms of meeting his own family. That observation strikes as somewhat off to me but it’s not like I can share in his current experience nor do I know the situations of his life. I’ve never met Bryce’s parents so what do I know? So the questionable behavior goes untouched and unmentioned. Bryce seems happy enough and who am I to take that away from him? I have more pressing matters to focus on anyways.

Such as Vernon’s increasingly agitated state.

“Diddykins,” Petunia cups my face and runs a thumb affectionately under my eye. However, her face is tight with worry and her bottom lip is raw from her unconscious abuse of it. “I know you're scared to talk about what happened but we’re worried sweetheart. The doctor said your voice is much better now…” Her eyes flits nervously towards the door.

It’s been two weeks since the event and my throat has healed nicely in that time. While that’s a welcomed development along with it came the inevitable line of questioning as the adults around us try to puzzle out exactly what occurred that night. They haven’t given me much in terms of information of what they know but I’ve mostly pieced together their current idea.

Most likely they discovered Hencurse’s body, probably left unrecognizable after the fire. I’m not sure what kinds of magical evidence was in the house but I’m sure the police were left baffled at some of the artifacts they found. From questioning of neighbors in the area most of them would’ve probably sworn that the house was uninhabited, adding to the mystery. Of course, they probably want to know how I got to the house two days after Harry went missing. The current theory is probably that the perpetrator came back and snatched me too.

I sigh and gently pry her hand from my face, “Mum, I’m _fine._ I told you before that I don’t remember…”

There’s something about the way she holds herself whenever I tell her I don’t remember that tells me that she doesn’t quite believe me. Nevertheless, Petunia just brushes a hand through my hair and doesn’t push but I can see that she wants to say something but holds herself back.

It’s not a completely foolproof plan, but backed by the trauma counselor’s assertions that retrograde amnesia is a common symptom from an event like this, especially at my age and also the slight concussion I apparently had. The only suspicion is from the particular that _both_ Harry and I suffer from memory loss. It’s not impossible that both of us don’t remember but it’s highly improbable. I also suspect that there’s more unknown factors that cast suspicion on our facade.

“Aunt Petunia?” Harry calls from across the hospital room.

She turns her upper torso towards her nephew and for once her gaze isn’t hard. The whole event seems to have broken past that last wall of bitterness encasing Petunia’s heart from Lily Potter’s memory. Her reactions towards Harry is still a little awkward, but it’s a far cry from the frosty and sharp tongued treatment she used to give him.

“Yes Harry?”

“I think Uncle Vernon and detective Turner are here,” he replies with his face pressed against the window. The confinement to this room has made the seven-year-old antsy and restless.

Petunia visibly pales at the news but then hardens her face accordingly. She stands briskly and pats invisible dust from her skirt. I’m actually rather amazed at the strength she’s capable of displaying in moments like these, which is so different than the Petunia Dursley I had grown used to in my past life (bitter and petty). This is a woman ready for battle. A women ready to fiercely protect her children, something I can relate to and admire.

“Alright boys,” she says with a voice of command. “You know how this works. Harry make your bed and make yourself scarce. Dudley,” Petunia looks at me affectionately, “remember that you don’t need to do anything you don’t want to love. Don’t let your father scare you.”

“Yes Mum.” I answer. I don’t tell her that nothing about Vernon Dursley scares me, not before and certainly not now after all I’ve seen. The big oaf of a man (less “father” day by day while Petunia, inversely, continues to grow my respect for her) is nothing more than big bully, more bark than bite. It’s easy to see how canon Dudley became what he did, though it’s still not clear if what I’ve become is much of an improvement.

The two men meander into the room minutes later. Harry has excused himself to the bathroom, where he’ll likely stay for the duration of the visit. They’re never long so it’s nothing to fret about.

“Petunia love,” Vernon greets his wife with a brisk kiss to her cheek. He checks around the room, beady eyes briefly pausing on me, “Where’s the boy?” No need to ask who he means by that.

“He had to run to the toilet,” Petunia answers. “I’m afraid the he’s not feeling too well today.”

Vernon visibly bristles, “Again? He always seems to need to use it.”

“Harry’s not feeling well,” I remind him.

All the adults in the room turn to face me. It’s Turner who speaks first, “Good afternoon Dudley.” He dips his head in Petunia’s direction, “Petunia.” He turns back to me, “It’s a shame that Harry isn’t feeling good today, but perhaps you’re feeling up to some talking Dudley? Have you happened to remember anything about that night that you’d like to tell us?”

So right to the questioning then. Maybe they’re getting desperate for answers. I shake my head and add meekly, “Sorry…” Might as well play up the baby looks while I still can. Honestly though, they’ve already had several psychiatrists in here to analyse and question me and the answer is still the same. What makes them think that sending in the a less qualified detective will garner a different result? What is it that they expect two seven-year-olds to be hiding anyways (not that we _aren’t_ hiding anything, just that it’s a rather illogical presumption of them).

“No worries,” Turner soothes. “I’ll just come back in a few days. Perhaps Harry will be feeling better by then and one of you’ll have remembered something.” He moves to leave.

“Now just wait a moment,” Vernon cuts in. He doesn’t look like he’s ready to let this go. “You haven’t even asked the boy yet.”

“I’m not going to make the lad come out of the toilet,” Turner grunts. “It’s better if I just return the following week.” The visits are always like this. The detective arrives not long after Vernon, pleasantries are exchanged, Turner asks the same question he always does, my answer is also the same, he attempts to leave, which then prompts Vernon’s temper to flare.

The detective hastily removes himself from the room and Petunia moves in to sooth her husband. As soon as Turner leaves it’s all hushed whispers, a quick glance in my direction, and the couple step out of the room to discuss.

I don’t dare risk heading over to the door to listen to their conversation, there’s too much room for mistake and I’ll more than likely be caught eavesdropping. But I do listen closely (I’ll have to learn that one spell to extend my ear one day… Or at least one that’ll extend my hearing range) and catch snippets here and there.

The predominate one is “freak” courtesy of Vernon himself.

Of course they’re talking about Harry, what else?

Out of the corner of my eye I see his head pop out of the bathroom door. I catch his stare and offer him a sheepish smile. I get a dimpled one in reply. At least someone’s in a good mood.

Vernon’s voice spikes in anger and I frown. Then the doorknob wiggles and Harry retreats back into the restroom.

This unnecessary hostility towards Harry is completely unwarranted, it must have something to do with what I overheard the other day. Whatever they found in Hencurse’s home Vernon has deemed it fit to make Harry into the scapegoat. At the very least Petunia is on our side, I’m not exactly sure when she finally came around but it’s good that _one_ of the adults in our lives is going to be mature and responsible about it.

The couple bumble into the room, Vernon’s face purple with fury and Petunia’s face sour. Neither are speaking to one another and Petunia sits down primly next to me, checks me over, before excusing herself to “check on Harry”. The moment the door closes Vernon is on me.

“No more hanging out with that little freak Dudley,” he demands and I stare at him with wide eyes trying to figure out what brought this along. “And I mean it son. I’ve put up with you-your… _friendship,”_ the word is seeped with despise, “for long enough. It’s time I put my foot down. You are not to hang out with the Freak anymore. We’ll get you a new room if need be but mark my words! That boy is going to tear our family apart...”

Something tells me that things aren’t going to get much better. At least, not until they get worse first.

~*~

**Interlude**

**Petunia**

Petunia Dursley née Evans knows that she is not a very good person. She knows that she’s jealous, she knows that she’s petty, and she knows that she let’s these traits get the better of her on most days.

It’s the reason why she let her baby sister run off to get married to a wizard and involved in a war. Petunia at the time told herself that she wanted nothing to do with her freak of a sister, that it was Lily’s fault their parents perished in a fire, that she would be better off ignoring her existence entirely.

Then Lily died.

And a baby was left on her doorstep.

Petunia wanted to hate the baby. She _did_ hate the baby. It was so easy when her husband agreed wholeheartedly with her (a man she married, though she’ll never admit this to herself, to spite her parents because if she can’t ever live up to the expectations of “Perfect Lily” then she’ll do everything she can ruin all those expectations, starting by marrying an oaf of a man her parents didn’t approve of, by turning up her nose at other people, by spying on neighbors, by raising a perfectly ordinary and square family because she wasn’t _special_ enough to be apart of hers).

And that’s how they ran their little perfectly ordinary house, with a powerful animosity against the child of her (beloved) deceased sister, a child that had no idea why everyone treated him so different. And if Petunia ever felt guilty she would simply clean the house and throw a tea party, inviting all her equally jealous and petty friends over and gossip and push the definitely not real guilt out of her head (except how can you banish an emotion from your head if it exists in your heart?).

However, despite it all, somehow her baby, her wittle Diddykins, struck up an uncanny friendship with the black sheep of 4 Private Drive and she couldn’t understand why (though a quiet voice in the back of her mind reminded her of that harrowing moment when Dudley was just a babe). Petunia hesitates to call it a friendship however, because while at first glance that’s exactly what the two share a closer look reveals a strange dynamic unseen in children their age.

Dudley always makes it a point to talk to Harry, to laugh with Harry, to use his intellect (her baby boy’s a genius!) to help Harry, to guide Harry, to teach Harry, to care for Harry, to love H--

Petunia will never say it but deep inside she knows that somehow her Dudley is doing a better job at parenting her nephew than she is. Lily must be rolling in her grave, cursing her sister’s name from the afterlife. Guilt continues to chew at her heart.

Sometimes, Petunia even gets the distinct impression that her son is disappointed with her. Which is crazy because he’s always been such a loving, polite, and obedient child, the neighbors all agree! Dudley always smiles at her and offers to help her with dishes when she’s feeling particularly tired (even though he’s not even in the double digits yet!). Yet, whenever she (unfairly) scolds Harry (cruel and harsh) Petunia always feels that Dudley (her toddler son!) is the one scolding and she’s the one being scolded. There is no real basis to the feeling but it does succeed in making the guilt in her heart fester.

Then she sees it. When Dudley and Harry play in the yard, and the sunlight shine just right, catches perfectly, and lights up Harry’s hair a highlight of brilliant red and reflects the radiant green of his eyes and her mind screams (lilylilyLilyLilyLILYLILY!) and her heart tightens, it’s not Dudley and Harry she sees then playing in the yard. Instead she sees a scene from long ago, buried deep in the recesses of her heart, a picture of little Petunia and Lily running around and playing in the flowers, giggling, laughing, so full of joy and untarnished by resentment (a boy dressed in black hovers at the edge of the clearing).

She stops watching the boys play in the yard after that, refuses to admit the emotions tearing at her heart. How can she continue to hold this petty grudge against a dead woman and take it out on her only legacy? (A woman that happened to be the most important person in her life before her baby was born). Petunia vowed to never watch the boys play again, but is drawn in by the beauty of laughter, joy, and youth ( _love_ ) and she finds herself unable to look away. Vernon doesn’t understand, wouldnt understand, and Petunia does not share her thoughts (her crippling emotions) with him.

At that point Petunia was stuck in a stasis, wanting to do… _something_ other than the horrible treatment she had given him thus far. Wants to follow in her son’s footsteps and give Lily’s legacy the life he deserves. But she’s scared, scared of history repeating itself, of growing to love the boy (though she already did love him in her own strange way) only to grow to resent him later on. Petunia doesn’t make a move to try, to change.

Not until the Terror.

When the first boy popped up on the news dead Petunia stopped in her tracks, as horrified as the rest of the community that something so terrible could possibly happen in a wonderful little town like theirs. A fluke people said, a one time occurrence, they’ll catch the killer, it won’t ever happen again.

It did.

Again. And again. And again.

Petunia felt the true terror then, especially in the moments driving up to St. Grogory and wondering if her children would be there (and since when had it become her _children_?). What if she was the parent that arrived only to be told her wards were missing. It was horrifying and sickening and Petunia wanted to hold her two boys close to her and never let them go, fearful for their lives.

It was then that she finally understood. Her fear so prominent finally showed her that she would be _devastated_ if any happened to Harry Potter, her nephew, her baby sister’s son. And that’s what prompted her to change.

Vernon was rightly confused at the sudden transition in Petunia’s priorities. Temper flaring at the sight of _new clothes_ out of _their money_  for the _little Freak._ But the sight of Harry’s huge smile during Christmas, as uncomfortable and unused to it Petunia was, brought forth a warm feeling deep in her chest. His smile was blinding, and it was all Lily and Petunia wondered how she could’ve ever thought that he looked anything like his father when he so clearly took after in mother in every way (down to the same crinkle of happiness in the corners of his eyes).

And then Harry went missing and Petunia wanted to _scream_.

It seemed like everything in her life was falling apart, Dudley was in the hospital because he _wasn’t eating enough_ and her other boy was probably being _raped_ and _tortured_ and oh god they were going to find his body _dead_ in a ditch some morning. Vernon seemed more worried about Dudley and while he expressed his worries to the police Petunia knew that he probably couldn’t care less if Harry was found or not.

Then Petunia wanted to _scream at him._

She didn’t, but it opened her eyes to a third revelation: She could not rely on her husband to care for her boys. She remembered then the magical onslaught of Dudley’s childhood and knew that the moment both boys turned eleven (because they _had_ to find Harry, they **_will_ ** find Harry) that Vernon was going to be an unpredictable force and she the only buffer for her children.

Two days after Harry went missing Petunia woke to a horrifying sight. One of her kitchen blades was missing and her Diddykins was _gone._ She had been hysterical, inconsolable, Vernon had no way of calming her and he ended up being the one to call the authorities (again for the second time in less than a few days, what madness is this that grips the town in it’s vicious grips?!).

Then they were told about two boys found by a burning house that were currently in the hospital. Checking it over it was revealed that they two boys and her two boys were one and the same and Petunia felt a huge weight lift off of her shoulders, nearly collapsing from relief.

But the trouble wasn’t over.

For once they thoroughly checked over a bag they had found with Dudley and released it back to Petunia (and wasn’t it lucky that it was she who found it and not her husband?) she discovered something terrifying that offered her little to no explanation.

The detective working on their case showed them some pictures of things found inside the burnt home that they couldn’t place. Cauldrons and vials of strange materials found in the kitchen, all survived the fire. Vernon was livid and demanded an explanation but at the same time already turned his ire and blame towards the the _Freak._

Petunia wasn’t so sure, didn’t know what to make of the whole situation.

She found a wand in Dudley’s backpack.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was hoping for this chapter to be a little longer (wanted to include a scene with Bryce and the ghosts of the hospital) but this chapter just kept dragging and it was taking far too long to finish so I’m just going to cut it short here and post what I’ve got. I hope you all took the time to read Petunia’s part, because while it’s not necessarily all that important to the over arching plot there are some points in there that enhance the story, give Petunia’s character a little more detail and fleshing her out, and also revealing some of the motives for her actions.
> 
> So I hope you all enjoyed! Sorry for the super long wait. Like I said, this chapter was just really hard to write.
> 
> And as always, if you see any typos or anything please please please point them out to me! I won’t get offended.
> 
> And I love reviews because they help me flesh out my ideas, even if it’s just a one word “good” review. Just let me know you exist! I won’t write without an audience!
> 
> And thank you all for reading too, it means a lot to me that you can enjoy this on my journey to become a better writer (there is much I still need to learn!).
> 
> -The Firecrest


	6. Escalation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where comfort is. But it is also the place where emotions run high.

“I’m hungry.”

I glance over at Harry who has paused in his reading to look at me intently. I raise a brow at the statement and I drawl, “You just had lunch half an hour ago” making a pointed look over to the two empty trays of food on the bedside chair (Petunia likely won’t be happy at the messy food droppings on her usual designated seat -- I make a note to clean up when I have time).

Harry rolls his eyes, “Yeah but I’m hungry again…” He pauses then adds, “And thirsty. I think I’m mostly thirsty. Can we get something to drink Dud? Something sweet perhaps?”

This boy and his sweet tooth, I’ll never understand. Sugar in moderation is fantastic and all but my god the amount this child consumes must be up in the toxic levels. I get that uncomfortable sickly sweet feeling just by watching Harry absorb ludicrous amounts of the substance (tame for him, if Harry got a say he would eat nothing but sugar). And somehow he still stays  _ skinny,  _ whereas if I put even a gram of sugar into Dudley Dursley’s body I’ll magically gain five pounds.

Genetics are so unfair.

A drink doesn’t sound too bad though. Shame 1987 UK hospitals don’t have convenient vending machines like modern day United States, but I suppose the trek down to the cafeteria wouldn’t be too terrible. I need the exercise anyways, being cooped up in our little room for so long. Harry and I will be discharged soon at least.

“Alright alright,” I sigh with fake reluctance, “I’ll go get your drink,” and Harry grins. “Anything specific?”

He takes a moment to think about it, feet wiggling back and forth beneath his blankets in thought. I take a moment just to appreciate the miraculous child-like personality Harry can still embody and thank every star that he hasn’t been changed completely by this terrible event, that he hasn’t lost that which makes him Harry.

“Hot chocolate,” he finally says after a minute of serious consideration (face scrunched up cutely as if he were contemplating life’s greatest question instead of something to drink).

“You wanna accompany me?”

Harry opens his mouth to answer then closes it and looks down at his book longingly. He stares up at me with big sad eyes, “I’m almost done with this chapter…” voice trailing off. What a manipulative little snot, the Hat wanting to sort him into Slytherin makes all the more sense now.

I groan dramatically and let out of dragged on “fine” as I collect the money Petunia left us and stomp my way over to the door. Harry flashes me a cheeky smile.

“Brat,” I mutter under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear. Harry pretends to ignore it, so I let the door slam extra hard behind me in response.

I trek down the hallways, navigating through the confusing bunch of identical corridors. A few people spare me looks as I pass by them but most just ignore me. It’s a bit of a work out walking all the way from the fourth floor to the second floor, but I make it eventually. I finish my quest with a cup of cocoa in one hand and a bottle of water in the other as I begin my journey again in reverse.

It doesn’t actually take all that long to get from the cafeteria to our room, five minutes tops. And that’s how long my walk should’ve taken.

If I had not been stopped.

“Dudley!”

I look over at the hovering boy, smiling gleefully at me, with half his body still phased through the wall. Bryce waves to me excited and floats over. His smile is a little lopsided due to slices of flesh hanging from half of his face, ghostly blood dripping from the painful wounds. I then notice the presence of another ghost behind him, this time a gaunt looking women with hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. She doesn’t smile like Bryce.

I survey the corridor. Luckily no one seems to be in it at the moment. But to be safe, I silently gesture to the spectral boy to follow me into a supply closet. Light dawns in his eyes and Bryce eagerly follows my lead.

Once the door is closed behind me, I turn to the boy with a pleasant smile.

“Hello Bryce.”

“Hello Dudley,” he says. “Me and you haven’t talked in awhile.”

I open my mouth to reply but I’m cut off.

“ _ You and I, _ ” the same ghostly women as before corrects as she floats in behind us, straight through the door.

Bryce nods, “You and I haven’t talked in awhile Dudley!”

I eye the other unknown specter with suspicion as I turn to answer the boy. “Yes, it has been a while hasn’t it?” I maneuver myself over to one of the shelves and carefully set my drinks down then I take a seat on a box. “How have you been Bryce?”

“I’m OK,” he says. “Oh! This is Margaret. She lives here like me. Margaret, this is Dudley, he can see us.”

The ghostly woman’s face remains impassive, “Of course she can. She’s a witch.”

I doubletake.

“E-excuse me?” I stutter out in shock.

Margaret turns to face me, still expressionless but I’m getting a distinct impression of amusement from her. “Am I wrong?”

Bryce on the other hand, has his mauled up face scrunched together in thought. “No no Margaret, Dudley’s a boy.” He faces me sheepishly, “Sorry. She’s just a little old and crazy.” If the ghostly woman takes offense, she doesn’t show it.

“You are still young,” she just replies with an echoing voice. “In time, you will learn to see that which cannot be seen. To observe and stay witness, as is the burden for those of us who linger.” Her words, coupled with her lack of intonation, is eerie and ominous. I feel a chill run down my spine. She turns to face me, it feels as if her gaunt and sunken eyes are piercing straight into my soul.

“What does  _ linger  _ mean?” Bryce asks, completely oblivious to the sudden change in atmosphere.

“It means to stay, to hold, it is a lack of direction. Stationary.” She responds immediately.

My mind is still on her previous words though, and I’m still frozen by her empty gaze.

“Who are you?” I end up asking.

She shrugs, or at least I think she does. Her shoulders move barely an increment, “I have forgotten. It is difficult to remember who you are when there is no one around to remind you. All I know is that I have been here a long time.”

“My friend Robert says that she’s been here really long,” Bryce says helpfully. “She’s  _ lingered  _ at this hospital for longer than anyone else.”

“Yes,” Margaret echos. “I have  _ lingered  _ for many years. Waiting for the One.”

I blink. “The one?”

At this, the corner of her lip actually twitches up in some bastardized version of a smile. Without turning away from me she says to Bryce, “I believe that Robert is in need of you Bryce? You should go before he throws a tantrum.”

“What?” He asks, “But I’m not done talking to Dudley yet!”

“Bryce.” Somehow, she’s still capable of expressing warning in her toneless voice.

“Alright fine,” the boy ghost pouts. He quickly floats over to me and whispers in my ear, “Sorry about Margaret. She’s usually really really nice. She’s just old and weird sometime.” He leans back and says in a louder voice, “I guess I’ll see you later then. Goodbye Dudley!”

“Bye…” He exits through the front door, still clearly unused to the fact that he can go through anything.

Once he’s gone, I turn my gaze back to the creepy specter, body tense and ready to bolt at any moment. Not that I could outrun a ghost but she doesn’t seem particularly malicious. Just creepy as hell.

“The One,” she begins explaining as if plucking the question from my mind. “Is the one I’ve been waiting for. I did not know it until much time had passed after my death that I had been waiting for anything at all. But it all became clear with time. And you my child…” She moves closer to me.

“You my dear,” she says softer. The room grows colder and the light above us appears to dim. “You are surrounded by the stench of death.”

My heart stops.

The stench of death? Because I killed someone? Because I’m a murderer? Because I’m-

I pause.

Because I’ve died?

“It is not you I am waiting for,” Margaret continues. “But the time is close, and soon child, you will see, you will  _ understand  _ what I mean. You are still young. There is still time. But not much.” Now she smiles, and I can see that much of her teeth are missing. The expression is haunting and terrifying on her hollowed face. “I can see it now. Death’s hands close around you.”

I scramble up and away from her but she just moves closer and corners me in the back of the room.

She croons, “And when he has you…”

“... _ I will finally know peace _ .”

~*~

I’ve never ran so fast in my life.

Somehow miraculously, I had enough consciousness through my panic to remember to snatched up the drinks I bought, before I bolted out of the room as soon as the creepy specter left. My feet automatically took me back to my room immediately through the haze of panic.

Harry hadn’t been happy with me when I returned, since his hot cocoa was lacking the “hot” of its namesake. Luckily, he was distracted by the arrival of one Anthy Willbro and her father. The surprise visit from his best friend immediately cheering up the young boy. I had still been frazzled by my harrowing encounter earlier but seeing the two children laugh, play, and chatter had really alleviated my pounding heart. Petunia also arrived a little later and she had been surprised to see Harry enjoying himself with his blonde friend. To my delight she had smiled fondly at the sight and got along with Mr. Willbro amicably.

(I also got eye candy in the form of Anthy’s attractive father.)

Thankfully, both of us were discharged from the hospital a day later much to my relief. Neither of us got to say our goodbyes to Bryce, but I couldn’t be too upset since I wouldn’t have the dread of encountering that terrifying ghost woman again hanging over my head. I’ve never been so relieved to leave a hospital before. And that’s saying something considering my track record with them.

Of course, I shouldn't've expected things to improve that quickly, considering my luck.

~*~

_ It is almost universal that wand crafters, or medium crafters of any sort, will take measurements of their clients. Many find this practice confusing or even pointless because they are under the impression that the wand chooses the wizard. This fact is certainly true and is one of the first things young witches and wizards learn in their lifetime of magic. However, most wizardkind do not dabble in the old magicks of wandlore and wandcraft (which is a shame, for it is an engaging topic and would makes for improved magic wielding if one only took the time to learn). The art of measuring limbs and head sizes is just like a Potions Master’s practice of weighing and gauging ingredient quality. While ingredients of the same kind will have the same effect all across, the final quality of the potion can change with the quality of the ingredient. Some potions require fresher ingredients, some require them nearly deteriorated, the difference can be as small as a single extra vein in the leaf of a Shrivelfig plant. It is that fine line between that which makes one a potions practitioner and that of a Potions Master¹. _

_ For wand crafters, each are intimately familiar with each and every creation. So much so that it can be observed that nearly all wizards by this trade will never forget a client and their wand, and need semdem more than a glance to recognize one of their creations. This phenomena of remarkable memory can be observed in one such wand crafter, Garrick Ollivander. It is because of this intimate relationship between crafter and creation that experts will almost always take measurement of their clients. A single extra centimeter in arm span, or eyes just a little closer or further apart, can affect what wand type would be best suited for a wizard. At certain ages in a wizard’s life, their bodies will reflect certain traits that reveal their true selves. Manifestations that may not be obvious to most. _

_ Take Millard Oberstein for instance, a German wizard who had lost his wand arm during the dark times of Grindelwald's reign of terror². His arm along with his wand were both lost forever in a life changing skirmish during the first raid of the French Ministry of Magic. When Oberstein had been staying in the Isles as a refugee after the fall of the French Ministry, he decided to purchase himself a new wand. Ollivander had gone through his initial measuring including Oberstein arm span, which was cut short due to his stump arm. Almost miraculously, Ollivander returned with a wand that immediately bonded with Oberstein. This is taking in account that the wandmaker was using measurements from a severed limb. This of course, because Oberstein’s stump arm is a manifestation of who he is at that point in life. One could almost call it Fate, that Oberstein was always meant to lose that arm. This is not true, of course. Wizardkind is blessed with free will, and it was Oberstein’s free will that lead him to that moment. But at the same time Fate did play some role in the events that allowed Oberstein to manifest himself physically. These manifestations are only readable by wand crafters and Seers. The topic is obscure and difficult to process and analyze for most. So this is where I shall leave this matter and ask that you, dear reader, will take it upon yourself to further your knowledge of the topic in hopes of broadening your horizons and granting you insight. _

_ \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ _

_¹ Potions and Ingredients by PM Severus Snape (1984)_ _  
__² Wand Crafters, Their Stories, Their Lives - A Series of Biographies by Johannah Livertoad (1969)_

I eye the names at the bottom of the page. So Severus Snape wrote a book? Not too long ago too. And only at the age of 24, that’s quite the accomplishment. It took me nearly a decade later than him to get my first publication. He even had a war to worry not even half a decade ago. Makes me wonder why his book isn’t on the reading list for Hogwarts.

Then again, that’s such a scam when professors make deals with other professors to put their books on their reading lists, just so they can get more royalties. They probably don’t have laws like that in the wizarding world though. From what I remember, Lockhart had made the students buy his entire book series. What an asshole. That shit needs to be outlawed.

I fiddle with the page, debating whether I should continue reading ahead or not. There really isn’t much for me to do anyways. Summer has started and while normally I would be planning our trips to Diagon Alley recent events have increased the level of attention Harry and I receive. Petunia rarely lets either of us out of her sights when we’re out of the house and it’s beginning to drag on me. Being cooped up all day is unbearable.

Downstairs I can hear the movement of Petunia rushing back and forth preparing for her weekly tea gathering with the other neighborhood housewives. It’s her turn to host this week and with the recent mayhem conflicting with her schedule she’s been going practically manic preparing for this afternoon. I’ve already been banished to upstairs more than once in her frenzie to prepare the house, and the only reason Harry is allowed to stay downstairs is because he’s used to the hustle and bustle of her preparations.

“Pet! Have you seen my cufflinks?”

The sound of Vernon’s heavy footfalls across the hall right outside my room penetrates through the closed door.

“Oh um-” Petunia replies distractedly. “Have you checked in the drawers beneath your trousers?”

Right. Vernon also has this benefit thing going on later this week for his drill manufacturing company. Grunnings is hosting the charity event to raise money for some cause and also to celebrate the retirement of one of their executive branch heads. The name of the person escapes me right now but I’m sure I’ll be reminded of it later anyways when Vernon goes over it again at dinner.

Apparently I’m required to attend.

Not that I’m upset about that fact. A benefit ball does sound nice and I’ve definitely been to my fair share of them back when I was a published author. It’s a good place to make new connections, keep up current ones, and re established old ones. But as a nine year old there isn’t much I can accomplish at an event like this. No one is going give me the necessary level of seriousness that would be required to successfully make connections at this sort of thing.

There had been a big argument a few nights ago between Petunia and Vernon over the benefit actually. Somehow all the pent up aggression and tense fury that had been building up in the walrus since the  _ incident  _ was released when Petunia suggested bringing Harry along.

Vernon had been furious at the suggestion but Petunia didn’t feel comfortable leaving Harry alone for an entire night, and she didn’t feel like Mrs. Figg was adequate enough to watch him for the evening. It was an opinion that I shared with her because as far as I could tell Mrs. Figg wasn’t the most observant of old women and she lacked the magic to protect Harry anyways.

To no one’s surprise Vernon did not share the same sentiment and a huge argument ensued that ended with Vernon raging out of the house and Petunia in a foul mood for the rest of the night and the next day.

The two were quick to make up however in fear of what the neighborhood might think. Afterall, normal well adjusted couples don’t argue and shout at each other and the Dursleys are as normal as they come.

The idea nearly makes me snort.

“I’m not finding it Pet. Are you sure you didn’t move it?”

There’s no answer.

“Pet?”

“Sorry love,” Petunia calls up the stairs. “I’m busy with the biscuits!”

I sit up a little straighter at that. The smell of those cookies baking have been killing me for the past hour and I know they’re the ones that Harry is really good at making. The smell is divine.

At the thought my stomach grumbles a bit and I reluctantly place a bookmark and set the tome back into my bag. I step out into the hallway, the sound of Vernon rummaging through things comes from their bedroom, and slowly make my way downstairs.

Sitting there looking lovely on the table is a platter full of cookies, still slightly steaming from heat. My mouth waters a little at the sight.

Petunia suddenly walks past without noticing my presence carrying a vase of bright flowers that I recognize from the side garden. She hurriedly sets it on the table and is about to set off again on her next mission when her eyes land on me.

“Diddy you shouldn’t be down here right now, Mummy is very busy,” she says breathlessly. And while she looks impeccable, not a hair out of place and green floral dress pressed to perfection, there’s a frantic look in her brown eyes and a tenseness in her elongated neck that betrayers her real emotional state. “Why don’t you go play upstairs love?”

“I wanted to see Harry,” I say. “Also I smelled biscuits.”

At his name Harry peeks out from the kitchen, hair wild and sticky with sweat, but there’s a content smile on his cherub face. “Hi Dud! Did you want to eat one? I’m also making tarts.”

While a tart does sound good, my heart is set on those chocolate chips.

“I’ll be fine with a biscuit,” I answer him. Then I turn to Petunia, “May I?”

Her pinched face melts a little and with a reluctant sigh she says, “Alright alright. But just a few, those are for our guests. Just make sure you don’t play around, I’m very busy.”

“Yes Mum.” With a grin I pull myself up to the table with a chair and snag a single cookie (just one, this body doesn’t mingle well with sugar) and taking a satisfying bite out of it. The warm dessert practically melts in my mouth and I have to hold back a moan of delight. I jump down from the seat and then make my way to the kitchen where Harry is busying himself with pulling the tarts from the oven.

“Having fun?” I ask.

Harry carefully sets the metal sheet down on the counter and wipes the sweat from his forehead before turning to face me. “Mmhm. Do you like it?” He asks pointing to my half eaten snack.

I nod and take another bite. “Ith derichous.” At Harry’s raised brow I swallow and repeat, “It’s delicious.” He rolls his eyes and returns to his baking.

“Ya know,” I say giving my half eaten snack a contemplative look. “These things taste best hot and gooey, I bet you with a little…  _ Pizzazz, _ ” I wink at my cousin, “we could make them stay warm all day. We haven’t practiced much recently.” Not that we’ve really had the opportunity to.

Harry’s eyes light up, “You’re right. That would be amazing!” The timer on the stove beeps and draws his attention away, “Okay, they’re are cool enough,” he says referring to the tarts. “Can you grab me the jar of peach spread from the pantry?”

I hum an affirmative and move over to where the preservatives are stored. Looking around it quickly became apparent that there was none there. “I don’t see them Har Bear.” I turn back to my cousin who returns a confused expression.

“They should be,” Harry says. “I saw them there last.”

I shrug after doing a once over again of the storage space, “Sorry cub. They’re definitely not here.”

“That can’t be right.” He walks over to where I am and into the space, “Huh… Guess somebody ate the rest.” Harry purses his lips, “I think we might have another jar somewhere. I don’t really want to bother Aunt Petunia though.”

“No need to,” I reassure. “We can find it ourselves.” Since conjuring food is apparently against the laws of magic. For what reason I have no idea since I can duplicate food perfectly fine, the issue only arises  when it comes to conjuring. “Where do you think they might be?”

“Probably the cupboard.”

Right. Since Harry got moved up to the spare bedroom Petunia had since repurposed the space beneath the stairs as an extra storage room. I don’t often go down there, no need to, but I faintly recall there being a shelf of cooking products and other cans and perservables.

“Alright then, let’s go-”

“Dudley sweetheart? Could you come lend Mummy a hand?”

I pause and look over at Harry. He just smiles and gestures for me to go ahead. “I can do it by myself Dud. I’m a big boy.” I roll my eyes at that but follow the silent order anyways and begin heading towards the general area of Petunia’s voice. It’s not like something could go wrong with something as simple as fetching a jar of peaches.

Petunia is struggling with a bunch of empty plant pots when I reach the side yard. I end up helping her carry the horde to stash in the backyard where it’ll be out of sight. Normally being in the side yard, it would be unseen from the general public but from the dining room it was on full display so must be moved when guest are over. My only question is why anyone would feel the need to collect so many pots, it’s not as if we’re entering any sort of gardening competition (the unofficial neighborhood lawn competition of one upmanship aside, as if the state of one’s yard were any sort of thing to blow egos over).

It’s in the middle of carrying a particularly large and heavy pot that Petunia and I are jolted out of our work by a loud noise from inside the house.

There’s a loud crash and shattering of glass immediately followed by a hollering “ **_BOY!_ ** ” Then the distinct sharp staccato of a slap and a cry of pain.

Wriling emotions raise up from the pit of my gut to my chest, so hot and strong that it makes breathing almost difficult. At my core I can feel my magic lashing out, straining against the force of my will, called forth by surging fury. And all within a second this inner storm overtakes my mind and faster than Petunia could gasp in shock at the commotion inside the house I’ve already dropped my plotter and moving purposefully through the house.

Petunia lets out a sound of alarm from behind me, “Dudley come back!” And drops her burden and rushes in after me.

“How dare you steal from me you ungrateful hooligan! I’ll have you thrown onto the streets with this!”

Vernon is thrusting his meaty hands towards a fallen Harry when I emerge in the main hallway, in between his fingers are his missing golden cufflinks. Harry is leaning away from his uncle, head down and averting his eyes from the angry beast above him, and next to him on the ground is the shattered remains of a glass jar and fleshy tangerine mush of peach preservatives scattered in clumps.

It’s difficult to see from Harry’s head positioning but I immediately spot a glimpse of red inflamed skin the the shape of a palm marring his cheek. My eyes blaze with fury.

I march forwards in blinded anger and immediately place myself between the only good thing in my life and my father. I say nothing but stare up at Vernon with defiance, daring him to lay another malicious finger on my baby cousin.

My sudden appearance catches the walrus off guard. He blinks in surprise and even shifts back an increment.

Petunia arrives then.

“What is going on here?” She demands.

Her appearance district Vernon from he as he moves his attention over to her. His eyes become hard again and he points an accusatory finger down to Harry.

“The little freak has been  _ stealing  _ Pet. I found these,” Vernon holds up the cufflinks, “in  _ there. _ ” He shifts his pointing finger to the direction of the cupboard. His voice grows louder, “And not just this either. There’s a whole  _ horde  _ of our things hidden in a corner in that hole. It’s all things this little  _ thief  _ has stolen.”

I blink in surprise and shoot Harry behind me a confused look because  _ my Harry is not a thief. _ He looks back up at me with tears in his emerald eyes and horror in his expression. After caring for him all these years I can read Harry like a book and it surprises me to see a knowledgeable look in his eyes, like he knows something about what Vernon is talking about which is shocking, but it’s also apparent to me that my cousin is not responsible for what Vernon is accusing him of.

“How long are going to indulge this behavior Flower? The freak needs to learn his place!”

“Vernon! You cannot just hit him like that! He’s just gotten back from the hospital-”

“Another thing which is utterly  _ his fault too.  _ We should just drop the little beast off at an orphanage and be done with it! To hell with what those other freaks say!”

I listen with thinly veiled horror at what he’s suggesting.

“You  _ know  _ why we can’t do that Vernon,” Petunia snaps sharply. “He, he’s… Harry’s our  _ nephew.  _ My sister’s  _ son.  _ We can’t abandon him like that.”

“You hate your sister,” Vernon terse-ly replies.

The statement only garners a tight expression from his wife, Petunia’s lips stretching into a thin line. She doesn’t respond, neither acknowledging nor denying the statement.

“Don’t bring her into this,” she finally says frigidly. “This has nothing to do with Lily.” And I feel a pang of pride hearing her act so uncharacteristically mature when it comes to Lily Potter. It does make me wonder though, exactly how many times has the walrus used her sister to bait Petunia.

“This has  _ everything  _ to do with your freak of a sister and her freak of a husband! They’re the ones who dropped  _ this  _ on  _ us  _ and didn’t even have the decency to take their damn  _ freak of a spawn  _ with them when they died!”

And to everyone’s shock, the second act of violence that day was instigated by none other than Petunia Dursley herself when her hand flashes forwards and slaps Vernon in the face, the sharp noise ringing through the house before being followed by tense silence. And out of everyone, it is Petunia’s whose expression looks the most surprised as her eyes follow her hand as if it were foreign to her.

Then, Vernon’s face lights up a brilliant purple. And I must give props to him because he doesn’t raise a hand back against his wife. Instead Vernon settles a blazing gaze on Harry’s form and I instinctively move to shield my cousin from the line of sight, an action which only serves to set the man off.

“So this is what this family has come to!?” Vernon roars, “My own wife and son,” he looks over at me with anger and betrayal, “corrupted by the freak!” He releases a heavy huff and takes an intimidating step towards Harry and I move to block his path even more.

“That- I didn’t mean to love,” Petunia says hastily moving towards him but also keeping her distance. “Please calm down, what will the neighbors think?” This seems to get Vernon to pause and consider for a moment but then he shakes his head and the fury is back in his eyes.

“I’m going out,” he says finally. “And I don’t want to see  _ that, _ ” he points at Harry, purple arm shaking in anger. “For the rest of the week.”

And with those final words Vernon storms out of the house, slamming the front door with a bang. With his departure the tense atmosphere dissipates.

I swivel on my heel and kneel down to check Harry over, behind me Petunia releases a shaky breath and leans against a wall for support. Besides the angry raised skin on his face Harry is perfectly fine and I thank the stars that he didn’t get cut on any of the glass shards littering the hallway.

I’ve always known that Vernon had a bad personality and an even worse temper from reading the books. But this is… After nine years of living with the man I had no idea he would ever raise a hand against Harry. His behavior and anger has been spiking recently, since the events of Harry’s kidnapping.

Familiar dread sinks deep into my gut and I begin to wonder how much worse this situation could escalate. And just when I thought our troubles were over too.

_ Out of the pan and into the fire. _

~*~

Despite the drama on Wednesday Petunia still managed to throw her tea party without a hitch, plastering on a fake smile and acting out the part of a lovely hostess and participating with the gossip in the neighborhood. I maybe guilty of a bit of eavesdropping.

To the surprise of nobody the hot conversation topic was none other than the horrifying events of Harry’s kidnapping and my disappearance. There were a few snide remarks here and there, veiled behind fabricated concern, about the entire thing. Apparently no one on the street appreciated the appearance of police cars on no less than two separate occasions, all within the same week, at the same house.

A few of the women commented on Harry’s “delinquency” to which Petunia was unusually silent.

For the rest of the week Petunia and I both made sure that Harry and Vernon were never in the same room together. This meant that Harry spent a lot of his time in his room and not doing his usual chores and surprisingly Vernon didn’t comment on this once or throw up a fuss.

And it was on Friday afternoon, when the walrus was at work and Petunia out shopping that I finally found out how the situation the other day even began.

There isn’t a lot Harry and I keep from each other. Other than the obvious “I’m a reincarnated thirty year old woman and I know your entire life’s story” secret I’ve been holding onto, Harry and I are pretty open with one another.

So imagine my surprise when I walk into the backyard to hear a series of hisses.

The source of the hissess?

Harry having an amicable conversation with a snake, one I immediately recognize as the common Adder.

Also one I immediately recognize as  _ poisonous. _

“Harry?” I tensely say slowing my movements as to not startle the dangerous animal. “What are you doing?”

His head snaps up suddenly at the sound of my voice and he gives me a guilty wide eyed stare, one homogeneous of someone caught red handed. The snake looks up at me too and rears its head back, lifting its upper body to appear larger, and hisses warningly at me.

Harry’s head snaps back down to the snake and he immediately hisses back something in reply and looks back to me.

“I-” He cuts himself off, unable to find the words to explain himself. “I uh…” Harry bites his lower lip. He finally replies with, “This is Queen, she’s my friend.”

My mind immediately flashes to all the Queen songs Harry has been listening to nonstop lately, not that the snake probably knows where it’s namesake comes from.

“I thought you were still at the store with Aunt Petunia…”

I open my mouth then immediately close it as I try to think of a response. To be perfectly honest, my mind was more preoccupied by the sudden bout of intuition and a sneaky suspicion that perhaps  _ this  _ was the reason for last week’s drama. I take a deep breath and examine the Adder, she’s still reared up and tense and giving me the most vicious glare I think I’ve ever seen on a snake.

“Is… Harry, is Queen responsible for the stolen goodies in the cupboard?”

His immediately flush and ducking of the head are all the evidence I need to confirm my suspicions. I sigh deeply feeling a migraine sneaking up on me. I knew that there was no way Harry stole and hid all of that stuff but this… A  _ snake  _ of all things. When did Harry even discover his parseltongue abilities?

Queen hisses at Harry and he immediately responds with a shake of his head. A few unintelligible sounds are exchanged between the two before the snake begins to slither up Harry’s arm. I make a noise of alarm at the sight but he offers me a disarming gesture.

“Har-bear…” I pause, thinking closely about my next words. “You- you have to be more careful Ursa. What happened exactly?”

It takes a few moments of consideration before he answers.

“I met Queen a few months ago.” My eyes bulge, a _ few months? _ How could I have missed this? “And well,” Harry laughs, “She’s kind of a diva you know? She’s convinced she’s royalty or something and well…”

Now he goes quiet.

“I know you’re really busy sometimes… And well… I know that I cause a lot of trouble for you Dud…” My heart clenches. “I just wanted to give you some space and Queen made a good friend to talk to when we aren’t going to school. It’s just… Last week with Uncle Vernon. He… he wouldn’t have gotten mad at you if it weren’t for me. And even with the Jason situation-”

My mind short circuits at the mentioned name of the Monster.

“-you wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it weren’t for me. It’s  _ all my fault _ Dudley,” I register that Harry is actually starting to  _ cry _ . “I’m so sorry I hurt you so much. I’m so so sorry.”

My mouth falls open in horror and I quickly move forwards to comfort the tiny boy, “No no Har-bear, you could  _ never  _ cause trouble for me.”  _ None those things would’ve happened if I hadn’t taken Dudley’s place…  _ “Har-bear look. Harry look at me.” I grasp his face firmly but gently between my palms and force him to meet my eyes.

“Listen Harry. You are the  _ best thing  _ that has ever happened to me. I love you so much little Ursa and I would do  _ anything  _ for you, so don’t you ever blame yourself for something that happens to me.  _ I’m  _ the eldest so it’s  _ my responsibility  _ to take care of you okay?”

I hold him as his cries slowly turn into sniffles.

After a moment he says, “Dudley…”

I hum into his hair, “Yes Harry?”

“If- if you take care of me though… Who's gonna take care of you?”

I pause at that question. It’s… It’s certainly not one I’ve ever asked myself before. I’ve always taken care of myself while the rest of my family wasted away from sickness. I meet Harry’s imploring gaze and I’m stuck by how serious he is. There’s love in his eyes and worry. My heart clenches at the sigh.

“Don’t worry about me Ursa,” I murmur to him. “As long as you’re safe and happy then I’m happy.”

“But not safe.”

I laugh at that, I can’t help it. Harry Potter never ceases to amaze me with his insight, ever the little detective, nothing misses his notice.

“I’ll be safe,” I say. “I promise I’ll be safe. And you’ll be safe. And once we go to Hogwarts we’ll learn even more to protect ourselves.”

Harry wrinkles his nose and pulls out of the hug. “You really promise?” His grip on my hands are tight, as if he’d lose me if he let go.

I lean forwards and lovingly rub my nose on his.

“I really promise.”

~*~

The cab ride is silent.

I shift once more in the tight suit annoyed with the scratchiness of the fabric. Petunia shoots me a look that says to stop fidgeting so I make one last quick adjustment and surrender myself to a night of discomfort. Even if Vernon wasn’t stony silent sitting in shotgun I doubt the night would’ve been much better with him gone.

A  benefit that I cannot even benefit from. Great.

I think to Harry and wonder how he’s doing all alone in that house. The bloodwards should protect him while he stays within its borders but I still worry. For the first time since I discovered Queen’s existence I’m happy for it. Harry doesn’t do well alone, he loves company, and we’re never apart for too long. I’m glad that he’ll have someone there for him through the night.

“Damn it…” Vernon grumbles from the front of the cab. “We’ll have to turn around.”

“What’s the matter love?” Petunia asks concerned.

“It’s those cufflinks,” he gruffs low. “I left them in the house. This is all that damn  _ freak’s fault. _ ”

Petunia frowns slightly, “Oh. But dear we’ll be late if we turn back now.”

“I know that Petunia,” Vernon snaps irritably. “But I can’t show up out of dress. I have no choice. We’ll just drop you two off and you can stand in for me while I’m retrieving the cufflinks.” In the distance the hotel where the benefit is being held pulls into view and a shiver goes up my spine.

“O-oh…” Petunia intones weakly. “But dear-”

“Don’t fret pet. It won’t take too long.”

The cab pulls up to a stop in front of the hotel and the cabbie steps out to open our door. Petunia hesitantly steps out, pulling me with her. We watch as Vernon relays instructions to the driver to head back to Surrey. He then bids us goodbye and steps into the car and is driven away.

Petunia and I just stare at the disappearing cab.

“W-well then sweetheart,” she says down to me. “We should probably head in.”

I furrow my brows but I don’t move.

“Dudders?”

I glance up at her with worry etched in every line of my face. I can see in her eyes that she’s thinking something similar but doesn’t say anything. Petunia has made lots of progress in the past few years in but it isn’t enough that she’ll fully stand up to Vernon yet. But me, I’m not Vernon Dursley’s son. I’m a grown woman from another dimension and I don’t have to follow anyone’s rules.

“Mother,” I say seriously. “Harry’s at home alone.”

Petunia nods slowly, “He is...”

I look again, back down the busy city street where Vernon’s cab had dissapeared down, and I gaze at it hard. I speak again, “I have a really bad feeling. We can’t… We should go.”

“Dudley don’t be silly, the benefit-”

I shoot Petunia a sharp glare. “There will be more benefits in the future but I only have one Harry. Even if nothing is wrong we have to check on him.”

There is silence between us for several moments as other people from Vernon’s company talk and laugh and walk around us. Finally Petunia speak.

She lets out a breathy chuckle, strangely melancholy, and looks at me with sad and tired eyes. “When did you get so mature Dudley?” I startle at that because I hadn't expected that response.

“Alright then,” Petunia says. She straightens her back and something akin to determination enters her gaze. “Let’s go.”

We quickly hail down a cab

~*~

Private Drive appears in the distance, windows dark and the entire house eerily silent even from our distance. I can see that the cab that brought Vernon back home still parked out front, engine on from the subtle vibrations. Petunia’s fingers squeez around mine tight but she doesn’t look down at me, her gaze is fixed solely on the house. From her reflection in the mirror I can see her eyes are pinched and she is biting down on her bottom lip. It’s an expression I can relate to.

Our driver pulls up behind the other cab with only the sound of shifting gravel to fill the dreadful atmosphere. Petunia hands him the cash due while I slip impatiently out the roadside door and round behind the vehicle. She steps out as I reach her side of the car and I hear her call back to the driver to wait for us. The car door slams shut softly as we ascend the pathway to the home. The thick silence is deafening.

We’re halfway up the footpath when a distinctly loud cry of pain sounds from the house and doesn’t stop. I don’t wait for Petunia as I break into a sprint mind blank. I barely hear the sounds of her heels clicking rapidly behind me. I don’t even register that I don’t have the keys to the house when the door swings open all on its own as if some invisible wind blew it and Petunia gasps in shock.

The moment I step into the house it’s to the sight of Vernon looming furiously over Harry’s dwarfed form atop the top landing, raging madness flashing in his eyes and body writhing strangely. And then Harry is falling, slipping down the steps of the stairs with muffled cries. I rush over blindly, barely managing to catch the rolling boy at the bottom, the force of his fall sending us both sprawling. My back hits the wall painfully and we both collapse to the floor just as Petunia enters the house.

“Vernon!” She shrieks out in shrilled outrage and the man responds with the deafening roar.

I mean to check over Harry who’s frighteningly still in my lap but I’m distracted by a flash of silver from the top of the steps and it’s now that I notice the reason for the man’s strange body movements. The moonlight catches the reflective scales of Queen, wrapped tightly around Vernon’s calve and quickly making her way up his body as the man struggles desperately to dislodge the viper.

“You  _ freak! _ ” He cries out in a panic and rage, “You’re trying to ruin me! Get  _ off me  _ you beast!” His fat body slams against the railing and I hear a dangerous creek of the wood. Queen wraps her lean body around the fat man’s chin and shoulder where his neck might’ve been. She’s hissing up a storm, fangs flashing and repeatedly burying them into pliant purple flesh. Vernon shouts out and slams again into the railing again, this time followed by a sharp crack as the banister bends dangerously under the weight.

“Vernon!” Petunia cries in shock as she races up the stairs to help. My attention is diverted when Harry moans in pain beneath me.

I begin to take in every detail of his form on rote, noting the marks and bruises formed from his tumble down the stairs and paying particular attention to the pulsing red finger marks wrapped around his left arm and the bruise forming on his cheek. I bite my tongue in anger as a metallic flavor coats the side of my tongue. It’s difficult to see in the dark hall but I finally see it. The thing that is the cause for this escalation.

Harry blinks up at me blurrily seeming to be just registering my presence. Then he’s glancing guiltily down at the wand clutched in his hand. The wand that was supposed to be in my bag along with the rest of our illicit magical items underneath the floorboard I’d pried up beneath my bed. If Harry is holding it, along with Queen’s presence, it’s no wonder Vernon snapped.

My head snaps back up at Petunia’s voice and I see that she’s trying to help her husband remove the snake, a look of panic on her face. Something akin to worry stirs in me though when I see that the small viper is now snapping her fangs back at Petunia whenever the woman gets too close.

And despite everything, Vernon dying is not something I want. He’s a pigheaded bigoted man with a penchant towards anger and violence. I wouldn’t object to him being put behind bars for his neglect and abuse of my baby cousin but his death would not bring me any joy, nor would it do anything except bring more chaos down on our heads.

“Har-bear,” I murmur softly to Harry who is now also staring in horror at the scene up on the landing. “Please call off Queen. She’s going to kill him.”

Vernon is still swearing up a storm banging over and over into the walls and the ever weakening railing. The beams would give any moment now.

To my relief Harry automatically hisses sentences to the viper who pauses when her speaker calls. Petunia gasps in relief but the calm is almost immediately plummeted back into chaos when Vernon takes advantage of Queen’s momentary distraction to finally wrap his fat fingers around her body, ripping her from him and chucking her over the railing and towards the wall above my head.

The viper writhes as it flies through the air and Harry cries out in terror. This is followed by a sickening thump as the animal slams against the plaster and drops to the floor. And then there’s a monsterous spike of magic in the air, so strong that it nearly freezes all my muscles.

I know immediately that it stemmed from Harry, as cracks in the house foundation burst like lightning from his position, shaking the entire building. I grab on tighter to Harry who is staring in horror at Queen’s prone form. Petunia grabs hold of the wall to steady herself and Vernon lurches off balanced towards the banister again.

His weight slams into it hard and it finally gives under him with a second deafening crack.

Vernon plummets to the ground floor, arms flailing about, and he hits the floorboard with a low thump. I know intuitively that the fall isn’t great enough to kill him but my gut still clenches at the sight and sound. A moment later he stirs and stumbles to his feet, right hand bent at an awkward angle. Even in this dim light I can see that his entire neck and face is saturated a deep dark purple.

I make a noise of alarm when his furious black eyes focus in on Harry who’s still entirely occupied with Queen across the foyer. Vernon lunges forward with a roar and I scramble in a panic to pick Harry up who’s just now noticing the new danger. I’m barely halfway up when Vernon grabs hold of Harry’s wrist with his good hand and tugs the boy roughly away from me. Harry cries out in pain as his uncle twists his arm painfully.

There’s a clatter of wood on wood as he drops the wand.

Vernon and I notice it at the same time and for a brief moment our eyes meet.

Then I lunge for the stick, ducking under swiping hands. Somewhere in me I’m utterly shocked that this man who loves me and calls me son would ever dare raise a hand to me. My fingers wrap around the wood and I roll out of range before standing and raising it up to Vernon’s face.

Everyone freezes.

“Dudley,” Vernon warns as his fingers tighten on Harry’s arm.

I don’t listen however, my mind racing with charms and hexes I can remember from my collection of books upstairs and I shout out the first spell that comes to my mind.

“STUPEFY!”

The wand movements are unfamiliar in my hands and I already know my form is terrible. I can even feel the wand protesting beneath my fingers as it struggles against a foreign user who is not it’s dead master. But nonetheless a jet a red light shoots out from the end of the wand and strikes Vernon square in the forehead. He immediately freezes up, large body going rigid and tumbling backwards as he crashes to the floor once more. Harry collapses once the hands holding him disappear and I drop the wand, hands feeling gross and disgusting at using it, and rush forwards for Harry. Petunia’s footsteps rushing down the stairs can be heard.

“What- What did you do?” She cries in a panic. “Dudley!” She shouts again when I do not answer, more preoccupied by Harry.

My mind whirls for a moment, trying to find the words. “It’s- It’s fine. It’s just a stunning charm. He’ll be fine.” At least, I hope so. I’ve never casted a real spell with a real wand before. Bad spell work can have unintended consequences but the stupefy did appear to have done its job. “He’ll be back to normal in a few hours.”

“We do not have a few hours,” Petunia snaps unexpectedly. “He’s been bitten by that  _ thing,” _ she points down at Queen who is still unconscious. “We need to call an ambulance!”

_ She’s right, _ it suddenly occurs to me as Petunia rushes off towards the kitchen, stepping over a particularly large crack in the ground, to fetch the phone. I hadn’t been thinking when I cast the spell. After all that violence my mind had only been on stopping anymore harm from coming to Harry. How… How were we going to explain this to the authorities? My mind flashed to investigator Turner and how he might perceive the cracks in the foundations of this house.

But before I can think any further the sounds of several loud cracks split through the air. My head whips around and I can see outside that several figures in robes have appeared on our lawn. Some moving towards other houses where our neighbors appear to have emerged to check out the commotion and some headed straight for us. I hear a squeak of surprise behind me and turn to see that Petunia has re-joined us in the entrance hall and is staring in shock at the approaching figures.

_ Aurors. _

I watch as a stern looking blonde woman followed by two men enter the door much to Petunia’s chargin who began to protest the unpermitted entry. But they ignored her.

The woman stares down at us with an unreadable expression and speaks.

“So this is the reason for all the mayhem in the past few months.” She eyes Vernon’s clearly stunned form, “Someone check the fat muggle.” One of the men behind her rushes forwards and the other towards Harry whom I immediately shield with my body. This causes the blonde woman to pay particular attention to me.

She leans down close, “We cannot check him for injuries if you do not let us see him, little one.” Her face is still stern but there’s something in her gray eyes that conveys her sincerity. I somewhat reluctantly move away from Harry to allow the man to check him over. As the wizard comes closer I feel my whole body seize up in fear.

The witch must notice because she puts a hand on him to stop him from getting nearer. My breath begins to come out short. We wait for several long seconds until I can breathe normally again.

“Come with me, love.” The witch says and she gently places her hands on me and leads me aside. My head swivels around and I lock eyes with Harry’s panicked green ones. He looks frightened. So I swallow back my own panic and anxiety and flash him an encouraging smile and a nod. Harry nods back hesitantly and turns to the wizard who appears to be approaching him now much more carefully, speaking in low calming tones.

“Please that’s my son!”

Petunia appears to our right looking anxious and more frazzled than I’ve ever seen her aside from that day I woke in the hospital.

“What is your name-” The witch begins to say when her voice is suddenly cut off.

“Blimey! This- This is Harry Potter!” The man who is examining Harry exclaims loudly which earns him a flinch from Harry.

“Crickerly!” The woman snaps but even she looks startled at the suddenly information. My stomach sinks.

“Madame Bones,” the other wizard examining Vernon calls. “This muggle needs to get to a healer right away. He’s been stunned and bitten by a poisonous snake.”

The influx of information seems to have the witch, Madame Bones (as in… Susan Bone’s aunt?), in conflict. She glances between the prone figure of Vernon on the ground and the scar on Harry’s forehead as her own crinkles in concentration.

“Alright, apparate him to St. Mungos,” she orders sharply. She glances back at Petunia, “you say you are this boy’s mother?” Petunia nods. “Is the muggle man your husband?” Another confirmation. “Very well. Emmerson! Please take this lady with you. She’s his wife.”

The wizard grabbing onto Vernon mades an affirmative grunt and motions for Petunia to follow.

“B-but what about my son?” She stutters.

“I can assure you he will be quite fine,” Madame Bones says. “For now you must accompany your husband. There is no time to lose.”

Petunia glances down at me in fear and I can tell she doesn’t want to leave me behind, especially with a bunch of stranger wizards. But we both know that Vernon won’t last much longer so I jerkily waver her away, hoping that she can understand what I’m saying from just my gaz because I’m in no position to vocalize anything.

A crack signifies that the wizard and my parents have left. I turn back up to face the witch but once again we’re interrupted by another voice.

“We’ve obliviated the entire block, Madame,” a new witch says entering the house. “We’ve interviewed the squib who contacted us and have determined that she doesn’t have anymore information on this situation. However, Arabella Figg has informed us about a situation a few months back that ties in directly with our timeline on the death of Jason Hencurse. We also found this,” she holds up the monster’s wand, “ lying on the floor. It’s last known spell was the stupefy charm.”

Bones nods at the witch, dismissing her, then glances back down at me, then towards Harry, then back down at me. A sigh releases from her lips. “Well then, little one. I know this must’ve been a stressful night for you, but I’m afraid I have a few questions that must be answered.” Her lips thin into an unpleasant line, “I know for a fact that your mother and father are both muggles. Harry Potter,” she motions back at my cousin, “is a wizard. And you appear to be one as well. My aurors have not detected the use of a portkey or a disapparition spell and there are no other wizards in this area. Which leads me to believe that either you or Harry over there are the ones to use that stupefy spell.”

She kneels down and takes my hands gently in her own when I refuse to answer, “You aren’t in trouble, little one. However, there is a very big question surrounding the whereabouts of that wand. A question that I need answers to. We’re just here to help, little one. My name is Amelia Bones and I’m the boss of the aurors…” She tilts her head to the side and thinks, “A bit like those police officers you have in the muggle world. We’re here to help and protect you. But I need you to help me too, ok? Now… Did you use that wand?”

I swallow deeply. All my plans… Everything. Ruined. Harry is now in the spotlight. There’s no way his discovery won’t be all over the daily prophet by tomorrow and in connection to that so will I. How can I protect him without the privacy to do what must be done? With Dumbledore working from the shadows, setting Harry up for a life of servitude and death, who will work against that agenda? Can I tell this woman? Should I? What will happen from here on out? I’ve already changed too much. I’ve lost my advantage of future sight. What more can I risk?

I shake my head. The burst of anxious thoughts fight to keep plaguing my mind but I fight just as hard to ward them off. No. I need a clear head right now. And there doesn’t appear to be another way out of this situation. Hesitantly, I speak.

“I-I cast the spell,” I softly admit, trying to keep as much innocence and childish tones in my voice.

“Thank you,” Amelia Bones says. “And what is your name, little one?”

She was going to find out anyways. “D-dudley Dursley, ma’am…”

“Good,” she says. “And can you answer just one last question for me, little one?” Her gaze implores my eyes so I hesitantly nod. “Where did you get this wand?”

Just then Harry cries out in pain and I whip around seeing that the wizard, Crickerly, is jerking his hand away from Harry’s wrist. I made a jerky movement to get over there but I’m stopped by Bones.

“H-he,” the male auror stutters. “His wrist is sprained, Madame. I didn’t notice because he was hiding it.” Amelia Bones sighs again for the utmost time tonight.

“Alright, alright,” she says in exasperation. “Call everyone in here now, and once they’re all in you will carefully take Harry Potter to St. Mungos.” Crickerly nods and runs outside to gather the rest of the aurors. Soon the foyer is filled with wizards and Bones stands without letting go of my shoulders. A sharp crack signals that Harry and the wizard have disapparition which sends a pang of anxiety through me.

“As you call must know by now,” she says in an authoritative voice. “That young boy there is none other than Harry Potter. Which means that this must be the muggle family he was left with.” The is a spread of disapproving murmurs through the small group to which Amelia just shakes her head. “Whatever you think, I must make it  _ imperatively known  _ to you all that this information must not, under  _ any  _ circumstances leave this group. I will be informing Emmerson and Crickerly of this order as well. If it any of this gets out to the media every single person standing before me now will be on Grade III suspension and probation. Do I make myself clear?”

Everyone nods quickly in a way that shows that they all hold Bones in high regards and respect.

“This goes for family as well,” Bones adds. “This information  _ will not leave this room _ . Not only for the privacy of this family and Harry Potter’s life, but also for their safety. We all know that there are many dark wizards out there that would love to have a chance at killing Harry Potter.” Her words send a shiver down my spin despite my knowledge of this fact. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, Madam!” They all say in unison.

“Very good,” she responds. She turns back to me. “Alright then, little one. Do you mind taking a quick trip with me? I have hot cocoa in my office and you might feel a little more comfortable there.”

I doubt this was a real choice but a nice soft couch with hot cocoa after this whole stressful night does sound tempting. I nod shyly and I’m granted a gentle smile.

Amelia Bones takes my hand and says, “This might feel a little strange.” Then there’s a loud crack and I feel jerky pull and I’m whisked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took over a year to update. But like I state in my profile. I'll post when I finish something which only happens when inspiration hits. And oh what a fickle beast it is. And I know a 10k chapter in comparison to the rest isn't really a good make up, but at least it's something right?  
> Anyways. I don't have much to say on this. I hope you enjoyed though. I can promise that this will be the end of a lot of hardships for sometime! Next chapters get a little more political (or maybe the one after that- honestly who even knows anymore. NOT ME!) but fluffy times are ahead before things inevitably get dark and edgy again lmao.  
> So here you go.  
> Please comment and leave a kudo if you please. And have a wonderful day. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Fanfiction.net nearly a year ago.  
> So in case you didn't bother to read any of the tags, this will be a PARENTAL relationship between Harry and Dudley. With Dudley being an older and very family orientated soul she will immediately cling onto and want to care for Harry. This story is mainly for me to do some personal world building and to explore the more intricate sides of the Wizarding world, such as all forms of magical theories and wizarding politics. But after over two years of planning and plotting this story I'm also pretty invested in the characters and their unique relationships in this story.  
> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Chapter Two will shoot right on ahead on a bit of a fast forwards through half of Harry and Dudley's pre-Hogwarts years. Hopefully the chapters after this one will all be much longer. :)  
> (Please feel free to leave a kudo and a comment on your way out <3)


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